


Hope

by allegre



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Dragons, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Smut, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, Ghost is a fucking legend, Implied/Referenced Incest, Jon Snow knows a few things, Jonerys, Mild Smut, Pregnancy, R plus L equals J, The Long Night, True Love, and just to make it clear: so much angst, but is still an idiot from time to time, direwolves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-07
Updated: 2018-03-21
Packaged: 2019-01-30 18:10:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 45,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12658764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allegre/pseuds/allegre
Summary: They know they love each other. They know they are better together than apart. They also know they have the cards stacked against them. What will happen when they find out it's not just the two of them anymore? The Night King is on the march, Cersei's plotting in the South, the Northern Lords can't be trusted and our favorite couple needs to figure out how to out-maneuver them all.Or: My very own Jonerys-centered season 8 with lots of wishful thinking.





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> Truth be told, I consider myself more of a fanfiction reader than writer. Some of the stuff on here - WOW! So every now and then, it makes we want to try myself. Usually, those attempts end after writing one or two paragraphs that I thoroughly hate and then delete. So I go back to reading and obsessing with other people's amazing stories .... and then after a while the itch returns. 
> 
> One of those times I actually worked through the "I hate everything I write" phase and this is the result. I've been sitting on it for a while and not sure what to do with it other than finally post it on here and see what happens. I'm super nervous but I'm doing it. Today. I'm curious to find out what you guys think and maybe I will continue this. Maybe. We'll see.
> 
> Here goes nothing.

_How could this be?_  

It was early morning, the sun had not risen yet as Daenerys stood at an open window in her chamber in Winterfell, taking deep gulps of cold air into her lungs in an attempt to fight the dreadful - but by now familiar - nausea. Her stiff fingers were clinging to the wooden window sill as waves of dizziness washed over her, leaving her shaky and light-headed. She closed her eyes and leaned against the wall next to the open window. The fresh morning air outside was ice cold and she was beginning to shiver, only clad in a thin night gown and robe.

She had made her peace with it. Even back when she had still believed she was the last of her family, she had come to terms with the fact that she would never carry another baby. She had accepted it as a truth. She was barren. She was the mother of dragons. That had to be enough. 

And truly, it was. Or it had been. Until a dark-haired Northener with charcoal grey eyes and a stare so intense the mere memory sent shivers down her spine, had stepped into the throne room at Dragonstone. She had insisted he bend the knee and he had refused. Instead he had told her ludicrous stories of an army of dead men beyond the wall. 

  _Jon._  

She had mistrusted him back then and had paid the ultimate price. Again. Viserion had died and it had broken her heart. Again. It had been on the ship, during their voyage back to Dragonstone, when the loss of her dragon had still felt unreal, too devastating to acknowledge, that he had reached out to her, both with his hand and with his heart.  The way he had looked at her, the intensity in his expression, it had taken all her courage and every ounce of self control she possessed to hold his gaze. And she had still averted her eyes from him eventually, the emotion in Jon’s too blatant, too unmistakable, threatening to overwhelm and force her to acknowledge her own heart’s desire. She had not been ready, caught off guard by her conflicting feelings, torn between all-consuming grief and the beginnings of a new, half-forgotten yet utterly exciting feeling taking root in her heart. 

They had fallen in love in a similarly devastating manner, slowly and then all at once, with every fiber of their being and every breath of their bodies. The weeks that had lead up to their glorious first night together had consumed every ounce of self restraint either of them had been able to muster. _That night had changed everything._ Or had it? Perhaps it had been a more gradual process, a change that had occurred little by little, with every stolen glance, every sleepless night, and every heated debate between them. In the end, it had felt altogether inevitable. 

_And not even your godsdamn honor could have stopped you, Jon Snow._

Dany smiled faintly at the thought and pushed herself off the wall. The nausea and dizziness were slowly subsiding and she made her way over to the large bed decked out with soft furs and wool blankets. She lifted a few layers, slid underneath and curled herself up cozily, arms wrapped tightly around herself. She was scared. As the morning sickness had kicked in, she had been able to dismiss the symptoms as a stomach flu for a few days, blaming the constant exhaustion and absence of her monthly bleeding on the arduous travels on horseback and harsh northern climate. If truth be told, she had been in denial about what was happening inside of her for weeks. 

_And why would I not be?_

Years had passed since she had lost Rhaego. And no man had been able to prove the witch wrong since then. Until now. Dany turned to lay flat on her back and moved her hands up to gently touch her sensitive breasts. Yes, the tenderness was still there, the feeling vaguely familiar, merely a distant memory, almost from another life. _They are bigger, too._ She smiled her second smile of the day as she remembered catching Jon staring intently at her neckline at the end of a particularly tiring council meeting the other day.  He had blushed momentarily, and for a few fleeting seconds a boyish grin had crossed his otherwise brooding face. 

Her hands slowly moved downwards and came to rest on her stomach. The idea that right there, right under her palms, a new life had taken root and was growing stronger every day, filled her with a mix of conflicting emotions she did not know how to handle simultaneously. She felt a hot tear running down her cheek and onto the cool fabric of the pillow underneath her head. 

“Are you there?”, she whispered into the emptiness of the room, both hands still resting on her belly, “can you hear me?” _Of course not, silly, it's way too early for that_. Yet she felt strangely comforted by the sound of her own voice so she continued: “I wished for you, you know? I had given up hope, but I never stopped wishing for you.” Tears were flowing abundantly now, and she let them. Her voice was hoarse and barely audible to herself. “I think your Pa never fully believed me when I told him that you were impossible. And maybe he was right. Or maybe that is just who he is, what he does. He makes the impossible possible".

_He makes my impossibles possible._  

She swallowed thickly and took a deep breath. “He’s one of a kind. He truly is.” 

_You’re not like everyone else._

He had told her that. On that fateful day of the meeting in the dragon pit. Coming from him, she had wanted to believe it more than ever. As a queen, she was expected to have confidence in her own exceptionality, her destiny to be superior, to lead and to be followed. 

But as she had been standing there in front of him, she had also known that he was the one person who made her question these things more than ever before. Not that he did not believe in her, not at all. In fact, Jon had enough confidence in her for the both of them. _And that’s why. You make me care. For you. For us. You mad me wish for this more than ever._ Her palms were caressing her lower belly in gentle circles. _You made me fall in love with you without even trying._ And being a queen had made being in love with Jon Snow considerably more difficult.  

At least until they had arrived in Winterfell almost a fortnight ago and had learned of Ned Stark’s -most likely- first and last lie, a well kept secret that he had taken to the grave as his life had been ended so cruelly and way too early. The concealment of Jon’s true identity had certainly saved his life, a vitally important lie, yet its revelation had thrown him into deep confusion and bitterness. He was a Targaryen. Hence, being in love with Jon Snow - or was it Aegon now? - had turned from being merely complicated to wholly impossible.

She knew what this - their - new truth meant, she had known from the moment her mind had processed the news. Yet, there had been a part of her that had refused to believe it meant the end of _them_  right away. What they had with each other felt too important, too real, too significantl to just end. It was utterly unimaginable, altogether unsurvivable. And still, it had happened. He had left the room without another word. At the beginning of a small council meeting the next morning, Ser Davos had informed her that Jon wished for the news to remain a secret for the time being. She had simply nodded and turned away in a futile attempt to hide the fresh tears welling up in her already reddened eyes.  

That night, when she had seen him leave the Great Hall during dinner, she had gotten up, motioned for her guards to stay behind and had gone after him. She had not had a plan, no idea what she would say to him. In fact, she had not even been sure there was anything to say at all. Most of all, she had been driven by a desperate longing, for him, his soothing touch, his gentle embrace, his loving voice. She had been hurting, _so much_ , and it had felt like he was the only one capable of taking her pain away. In her mind she had known how paradox that was, but her heart had not cared. He had turned around when she had almost caught up with him, only a few steps separating them in that stone-walled, torch-lit corridor. 

  _Oh Jon_. 

His face had been pale and unmoving, his jaws clenched together. But his eyes. _Oh, your eyes, your beautiful, beautiful eyes._ They had mirrored everything she was feeling. Pain. Fear. Confusion. Sorrow. Longing. And, _yes_ , love. It had still been there. She had seen it there, somewhere, in the depth of his impossibly irresistible eyes. _I love you, too. I always will. Always. I promise._

When he had suddenly moved towards her she had frozen, equally torn between the urge to meet him halfway and the knowledge that his touch might shatter her once and for all. He had stopped his advance standing mere inches from her and had slowly reached up to gently cup her face with both hands, tenderly stroking a calloused thumb over her cheekbone. For a moment hope had welled up in her, sweet, naive hope that together, they could ignore what had happened, forget everything they had learned and mend each others' broken hearts. It had been a few blissful moments before he had removed his hands from her and had taken a step back. Before turning from her, he had looked at her one last time, the agony in his eyes blatant and painful. “I’m so so sorry, Dany. More than you’ll ever know.” It had been barely a whisper. And with that he had walked away, leaving her behind unable to breathe or form a coherent thought. The finality in his words had been undeniable.

_Damn you, Jon. You always strive to do what’s right and just. Nothing has ever felt more wrong than this._

He had withdrawn from everyone since then. 

_Everyone, not solely me. But me included._

The sound of footsteps and opening of closet doors from her front room brought her back to the present. She sighed. It was time to get up, pull herself together and act the Dragon Queen everyone was expecting. She would have to deal with her personal life later. She knew she needed to consult a maester as soon as possible. Yet, more rumors were the last thing any of them needed right now. It could wait a little while longer. 

_You wanted this, you wanted to be a queen, you wanted to rule. Duty comes first._

She sat up and looked down at her hands that were once more cradling her belly. “I love you, little one. You're my hope.” 


	2. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jon's turn! 
> 
> Sorry for the wait everyone! It took me forever to even start writing this. I really really didn't want to mess it up. Still not sure how I feel about the result but I'm curious to see what you guys think! Let me know! :-) Constructive criticism welcome of course. But please don't be cruel. At least if you're expecting more chapters in the future. :-D 
> 
> Without further ado, I present Two. Enjoy!

It was a clear, star-studded night, the sky a dark blue, almost black, a beautiful contrast to the snow covered scenery surrounding him. Jon felt cold. Not just on his skin, but underneath. He had spent almost his entire life up here in the North, even at the Wall, so he was sufficiently accustomed to the harsh climate. The chill he felt now was different and he knew he would not get rid of it once inside the castle. He reached Winterfell’s gate and passed the guards positioned there giving a brief nod. The snow was creaking under his heavy boots as he made his way through the courtyard, the moonlight and a few flickering torches illuminating his path.

_Home._

He felt it, knew it in his heart, but the thought did not feel like a comfort these days. And how could it, truly? How could anything comfort anyone in the face of death and destruction? Ignorance was no virtue in his eyes, but he found himself craving its false yet blissful serenity more often lately. The load of worries on his shoulders felt heavier with every day passing and there was no one to share his burdens with.

 _That’s not true,_ he corrected himself silently. _There is, but I’d rather cut off my own arm than cause her any more suffering than I already have._

If he was being honest, even with the looming extinction of humankind and a horde of Northern Lords on the verge of rebellion, her safety and wellbeing had become his priority. In the beginning he had tried to rationalize these feelings, his growing need to protect her, shelter her from all evil and harm. He had told himself that she was their only hope in the fight against the dead, and therefore her survival of utmost importance to their success. While that was not necessarily incorrect, it also was not the entire truth.

_I love her._

There had been a point where denying it any further had felt so utterly wrong, he had simply decided that instead of putting more effort into fighting his feelings, he would finally surrender. Nothing had ever felt more right and more true. He loved her. Every part of him loved every part of her, and he would fight until his last dying breath to ensure the country would see Spring. The Long Night would end, the sun would rise and Daenerys Targaryen would start building a better future. A future without oppression and hate and discrimination. A future where girls could be warriors and bastard boys could be kings.

_And eventually, probably a long time from now, people will forget what bastards are. They will love all children equally, no matter what the circumstances._

Jon let out a heavy sigh. Her vision of the future was an idealistic one, beautiful and worth fighting for, yet thoroughly naive. And still, he believed in it. He believed in her. Daenerys had given him something to believe in, to put his faith in, and strangely enough he only now felt how much he had longed for that.

_And for her._

It seemed like an eternity ago that he had last felt her gentle touch, seen her beautiful smile, kissed her warm lips. Missing her, staying away from her felt like trying to fight gravity. Part of him knew that his efforts might ultimately be altogether futile, but he was convinced he at least had to try.

Jon had finally entered the castle and was walking along one of Winterfell’s many stone-walled corridors with a confident stride, merely a short distance away from his usual nightly destination. He passed a staircase that led down beneath ground level and his thoughts wandered to the eery place at the bottom. As a boy, Jon had tried to avoid the Crypts of Winterfell as best as possible. Knowing who was buried there, he had always felt out of place, even more the unwelcome bastard he knew he was above ground. Now, these memories were almost soothing compared to those of what had taken place down there a fortnight ago.

_My mother._

She had always been there, right there, right in front of him. He had not known. All these years growing up, feeling Lady Stark’s hateful eyes upon him wherever he went, she had been right there. She was not some stranger who had given him up in an attempt to rid herself of the proof of her own sexual immoralities. She was no stranger at all.

_Lyanna._

Beautiful Lyanna Stark had never been his aunt. Just like Ned Stark had never been his father.

_Rhaegar. Rhaegar Targaryen. Heir to the Iron Throne._

They had been in love. They had married. Jon shook his head. Still, the idea of him as a legitimate child, the product of two people in love, felt strange, like something he had dreamed up and should feel guilty for. However, coming to terms with all the lies and deception surrounding his birth and identity had proven to be much more of a struggle. While he could not say that he had always enjoyed his bastard existence, it had been his life and he had accepted it. Being a bastard was not a pleasant reality, but it had always been his reality. Until it suddenly had not been anymore.

Intellectually, he fully understood why Ned Stark had done what he had done. He knew his uncle had saved his life and he was grateful to the man who had risked so much to keep his promise to his beloved sister. Yet, part of Jon also felt betrayed. He knew it was an irrational sentiment and it would likely take him some time to let it go. Ultimately, what troubled him most was the thought of the thousands and thousands of lives lost during a rebellion that had been sparked by those same lies in the first place. He could not see how he would ever make his peace with the fact that a great deal of human suffering could have been avoided.

_Daenerys' suffering could have been avoided._

And, whenever he allowed himself a moment of egoistic self-pity, he also thought about his own suffering and how it now somehow felt in vain.

_Let it go, you fool. Dwelling on past deaths isn’t going to help you prevent future ones._

Perhaps it was too late anyway. Perhaps it was wiser to give up and flee while they still could. Jon knew that their chances were slim, outnumbered and much more vulnerable to the cold than the enemy as they were. But he also knew that fleeing would only mean temporary escape. There was no choice to be made. They would win, or they would die fighting. It was as cruel and as simple as that.

The Northern Lords and whether they would accept and support his decision to bend the knee and swear allegiance to a foreign Targaryen queen had worried him, but their blatant aversion and persistent disapproval had still surprised him.

_I’m biased and they know it. I’m the one who’s in love with her. They believe I let my feelings get the best of me. And they might not be entirely wrong._

He had not asked for it. They had named him King of their own accord. They had decided to follow him because they believed in him and his judgement. The decision to take back Winterfell had not been a purely political one. Quite frankly, it might not have had anything to do with politics at all. Winterfell was home, it belonged to the Starks. It was where they had grown up. It was where the family they had lost had found their final resting place. If reclaiming their home had not been an emotion-driven choice - then what was?

_They will come to see her for who she is. They have to._

They were lost without Daenerys and her dragons, but they also needed the full support of the North to stand a chance in the upcoming battle. Jon had initially believed that all it would take was time. Time for the Lords to get to know their new Queen. Time for Daenerys to show them that she would not repeat her father's mistakes. Time to convince them of her vision for a better future.

_You know nothing, Jon Snow._

How right she had been.

_You are a godsdamn fool._

His naivety had almost cost Daenerys her life. He briefly closed his eyes at the thought, both of his hands clenched in tight fists. It had been the night of Bran’s reveal. After spending hours with his sisters - who kept insisting that they were still just that, his sisters, despite everything they had just learned - talking, yelling, shedding a few tears here and there and ultimately just trying to comfort each other, he had made his way up to Daenerys’s chambers. At some point he had realized that above everything else he needed to talk to her, to make sure she was alright, to tell her he loved her, to let her know that nothing had changed, or would ever change. He had found the door to her front room open, the two Unsullied guards in front of it dead, arrows sticking out of their bloodied chests. The assassin had never made it into her chamber, Jon had caught him before he had been able to enter. As he had dragged him back out into the hallway, Ser Jorah had rounded the corner, but by the time he had reached them Jon had already killed the man with one clean strike. Ultimately, they had decided to keep the events of the night from their Queen and therefore everyone else. As usual whenever remembering their lie, Jon felt guilt rising in his throat like bile.

_It was the right decision. Telling everyone would have only stirred more anger and mistrust on both sides._

In all honesty, he was not sure at all if what they had done had been right or not. All he knew was that he wanted Daenerys safe. He did not want her to do anything bold, to risk her own life again in an effort to gain trust in the North. He did not want her numerous foes to feel encouraged be the assassin’s actions. He did not want the Northern Lords to feel more threatened by his personal relationship with the queen than they already did. He had heard the rumors. Several housemaids had attested to the fact that Jon Snow had barely used his own chambers since his return. They were not wrong about that detail, he had to admit that. But, contrary to popular belief, he was not spending his nights sharing the Queen’s bed. At least not anymore. Still, part of him wished for the rumors to be true. He missed her more than he was able to understand himself.

_She will live. I will make sure of it._

Jon stopped. He had reached his destination. Ser Jorah was already there, along with two Unsullied and two Dothraki warriors. First, it had been awkward, all of them standing in dark hallway together for hours while the rest of Winterfell slept. But with every night it had become more normal, especially between him and Ser Jorah. They began talking, careful about keeping their voices down to not draw attention - the Queen’s in particular - to the fact that they were there, right in front of her door.

Ser Jorah gave him a brief nod and his by now familiar half smile as he positioned himself next to him on the opposite side of the corridor across from Daenerys’ door. The old man looked tired. Jon had suggested several times that he should take a break and get a good night's rest, but Jorah had always politely declined. Jon felt grateful knowing that somebody else besides him cared for Daenerys’ safety as much as he did.

_Or almost as much._

He, too, was tired. He had not gotten much sleep in the past two weeks since their return, spending the nights in a cold, draughty corridor. But even in the few hours he allowed himself some rest in his own bed, sleep avoided him more often than not. They had never talked about the news Bran had brought them. He had Ser Davos inform her of his intentions of keeping his parentage private for the time being. Save for one cruelly short moment in one of Winterfell’s dark passageways they had not been alone since arriving in the North. He knew she most likely believed that learning of their shared blood had changed his mind about his feelings for her. It pained him more than he had thought possible. But he had decided that if letting her believe this would keep her safe, then so be it.

_I love you. It’s truly the one thing that hasn’t changed. It never will, Love. Never._

He rubbed his eyes with one hand and leaned back against the cold stone wall behind him. It was going to be another long night. He usually abandoned his guard post shortly before sunrise when he knew Missandei would come to tend to Daenerys. Dawn was still a few hours away. But he did not mind. No, he did not mind at all.


	3. Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year everyone! 
> 
> Again, I am sorry for the long wait. It was a struggle and took multiple attempts but here it finally is: my chapter Three. This is my first attempt at writing dialogue (for these characters) ... not completely happy with it but I'm sure it'll get easier with time.   
> I hope you enjoy and do let me know what you think! Please? :-)

The way from Winterfell’s Great Hall to the chamber they usually held their council meetings in led through a series of passages and narrow, draughty hallways. Usually, Dany dreaded these walks. The castle’s structural anatomy was still confusing to her and it bothered her that she often had to rely on her guards to lead the way. Today, she did not mind as much. She needed a few minutes of calm to collect her wits.

She felt strange. Not in a physical way, the nausea had not returned since the morning. In fact, she had not felt this rested in a long while, it almost seemed like her body was rewarding her for finally admitting to herself what was happening inside of her. The significance of her realization felt profound, the implications too confusing to be predictable yet. The world around her seemed to be exactly the same as last night, but to her everything had changed. She flinched slightly when she noticed that her right hand had come to rest on her stomach and removed it quickly. Part of her wanted to keep this secret just to herself for as long as possible, locked away in her heart to cherish and enjoy silently and safely. Already, the need to protect the little life from the cruel and unforgiving world around her was overwhelming and all-consuming. But there was also a naive, carefree part of her that felt euphoric and so utterly excited and that part wanted nothing more but to climb the highest tower of Winterfell and shout out the news for everyone to hear. A faint smile crossed Dany’s face as she thought about how people would react to such a thing. Most would likely believe she had gone mad. It was in her family after all. Her advisors, she imagined, would be in shock. She had made sure they knew that there was no hope for her in that regard. But ultimately, there was only one person whose reaction really mattered. That person would be standing across the table from her for the next several hours, discussing war strategy and food supply distribution with their advisors, completely unaware of the fact that in only a short couple of months he would be a father.

_That is assuming we live long enough to see this baby being born._

She drew in a sharp breath and closed her eyes briefly, trying to shake off the bitter thought. Now was not the time to wallow in self-pity. She needed to focus on practical things, the meeting that awaited her. Earlier, Tyrion had informed her that they had received ravens from multiple locations within a few days' travel from Winterfell, reporting the sightings of wights. Her hand had sounded alarmed when he had joined her during breakfast to share the news. And even though she could still feel the dread that had settled low in her gut as a constant companion ever since her first encounter with the army of dead behind the wall, Tyrion’s announcement of the imminent threat did not get to her as much as she had thought. The terror and the panic she had expected did not come. Instead, she mostly felt sorrow. Defeat seemed so utterly inevitable, she found herself grieving for a life in which Jon would get more time to adjust and accept his true identity and all the implications that came along with it, a life in which she would give birth to their beautiful healthy baby, a life they would spend together. A life she would never get to live.

She had merely nodded at Tyrion and excused herself from the table. Ever since they had found out the truth about Jon’s birth, her advisors had been exceptionally patient and considerate of her emotional state. She was too proud to openly thank them for their compassion, but made sure nonetheless that they knew she appreciated it deeply. Especially Missandei had been particularly attentive to her needs and had kept her company whenever she had let her. She had always been a caring and devoted friend, but in retrospect, Dany realized, the way Missandei had been fussing over her dwindling appetite, regularly attempting to coax her into eating a bite here and there and always making sure she got enough rest and stayed warm were strong indicators that her confidante had suspected more was going on beside just a broken heart. It was likely that she had known long before Daenerys herself had noticed any symptoms but had known better than to act prematurely and broach the subject hastily. Now, more than ever, Dany felt immensely grateful for her friend’s thoughtfulness. She knew she had needed the time to deal with her own confusion and come to terms with the changes happening to her, or rather with the reality of what these changes meant.

_Hope. They mean there’s hope. Or at least there could be, if death wasn’t marching towards us._

Dany rounded the last corner and came to a halt in front of the chamber where the meeting was about to begin shortly. She gave a curt nod to her guards who positioned themselves on opposite sides of the opened door as she moved inside. The room was still almost empty, save for Lady Sansa already seated at the large oval table in the center of the chamber sorting through a large pile of parchment, and a servant girl arranging wine cups on a small table positioned along one of the rough stone walls. The girl kept her head low, purposefully avoiding Daenerys’s eyes as she quickly disappeared into the adjacent room, so Dany turned to Sansa and forced her face into an adequately genuine smile.

“Lady Sansa.”

Jon’s sister looked up startled and hastily rose from her chair, curtsied and flashed Daenerys an apologetic smile: “Your Grace, please forgive my manners. I was distracted and didn't hear you enter … .”

“Please, Lady Sansa, don't worry. It's quite alright. I completely understand that you're preoccupied at the moment. There must be so many things on your mind …” Daenerys trailed off. She realized it was the first time she was truly alone with Jon’s oldest sister.

_Cousin._

But no. Sansa, Arya and Bran were still Jon’s siblings, always would be. They had made that abundantly clear. Seeing Jon with his family had sparked something in Dany, a warm feeling in her chest, but also a deep longing, a desire to share this bond that had kept them together through all they had gone through over the years, and even now, as Jon’s world had been turned upside down by Bran’s revelation.

_If only it was this easy for him with me._

Sansa’s voice startled her out of her reverie: 0There is, indeed. The list of things to consider, preparations to be made, it never ends,” she lifted her shoulders in a small shrug, “but I imagine it's the same for you, Your Grace, if not worse.”

Dany smiled at the redheaded woman again. She appreciated Sansa’s honest answer. It was a welcome change of pace compared to the usual formalities she exchanged with most people around the castle.

“Not worse, probably just different. Lately, I have been wondering if I might've grown so accustomed to worrying that I've simply forgotten how it feels not to.”

It was an entirely unusual thing for her to admit, let alone say out loud in the presence of another person. Yet, her confession somehow did not feel out of place. She wanted to get to know Jon’s family on a personal level and she knew the only way to earn their trust was to open herself up to them, to allow them to see her, vulnerable and flawed and real, behind the queenly mask and the expensive dresses.

Briefly, Dany could see the surprise in Sansa’s eyes at the intimate turn their conversation had taken. But she quickly composed herself and gracefully settled back down in her chair at the Queen’s gesture. Dany, too, found her chair and sat, hands resting on the wooden armrests.

“I can only begin to imagine the stress you must feel, your Grace. Being a leader in such dire times surely comes with immense personal sacrifices.”

Sansa’s reply was equally bold, but Dany did not mind the least. It felt like she was finally making some progress, perhaps even for the first time since arriving at Winterfell. The North and its inhabitants had not been exactly welcoming to her. The reactions to her presence ranged from bluntly ignoring her existence to downright hostile advances. She knew Jon was trying his very best to shield her from the worst of it, but she was quite aware that there were several Northern Lords out there who would like to see her dead rather than fight alongside an ex-exiled Targaryen and her army of savages and eunuchs. She forced herself to hold Sansa’s gaze, not wanting to seem intimidated by the woman’s candidness.

“Yes, I suppose that comes with the position. And yet, I will gladly accept these sacrifices if it helps us succeed. I stand by my word, Lady Sansa, I am committed to your family, to your home, to the North. This our war and your victory will be my victory, just as your defeat will be mine. We win or we lose, whatever it will be, we will do it together.”

It was Sansa who broke their eye contact then, instead staring at her hands neatly folded in her lap. For a moment, a frown marred her beautiful features. “I'm sorry,” she said quietly, her tone now much softer and less confident.

“What are you apologizing for, Lady Sansa?”, Daenerys was confused, Sansa’s sudden declaration far from what she had expected.

She raised her eyes to meet Dany’s again. “For everything. My behavior. Our behavior. The way you have been treated here has been dishonorable and unfair. I should have been on your side. One lesson that I have learned during these past years is that women need to unite, stick together, in order to survive. I truly am sorry, your Grace, I hope you can forgive me, forgive us … .”

Dany took a deep breath, startled by both Sansa's words and the sudden onslaught of emotions. She felt her throat tighten and fought the tears beginning to well up in her eyes. This was not the moment to cry. She silently chided herself for being so overly emotional and cleared her throat as she got up from her seat, walked around the table and sat down beside Sansa. The woman turned toward her and smiled faintly as Dany took one of her hands in her own.

“First of all,” Dany said in a mock commanding tone, “it is Daenerys from now on. Please, no more ‘Your Grace’ from you.”

Sansa’s smile widened and she nodded: “Thank you, Daenerys. I'm Sansa.”

“Good, I’m glad we got that out of the way,” Dany continued. “Sansa, there's  no need for you to apologize. I understand your reservations towards me and my intentions. Your brother's told me about how you two came to reclaim this castle and about some of the things you have endured in order to come home. And I know for certain he's left out most of the details because they are - quite frankly - none of my business. So the fact that you're careful who you trust and protective of your family and your people is not only right and fair but very admirable. In all honesty, I’d deem you naive if you weren’t.”

She paused when she saw a look of sadness cross Sansa’s face at her last statement and squeezed the hand she was still holding reassuringly.

“I had to learn early on that naivety can be as dangerous as a sharp blade held to your throat.”

At that, Dany felt a wave of sympathy towards her newfound friend. Behind her sternness and aloof manners she was still a young girl, deeply scarred by the cruel world she had been born into. And she reminded her of herself in all the things she had had to overcome to be here, to become who she was today. “It's a hard lesson to learn, but an utterly necessary one as well. Most men strive for power above everything else. Physically, they usually have the upper hand, but they all make the same mistake eventually.”

At Sansa’s questioning look she announced: “They think too much with their cocks instead of using what is between their ears.”

It earned Dany a short chuckle from the redhead, before she remembered her manners and quickly covered her mouth with one hand.

“Not quite all of them though, I suppose,” Sansa muttered from behind her hand, casting a sideways glance at Daenerys.

“Right, there might be a few rare exceptions.”

“Do you consider Jon among those rare few?”

Dany swallowed visibly. Her conversation with Sansa had allowed her to forget her own emotional distress for the first time in a long while. The question had taken her off-guard.

Sansa seemed to notice her unease and quickly added: “I’m sorry, Daenerys, I shouldn’t have asked. It really is none of my concern … you and Jon … I know things have been difficult since … .” She didn’t finish the sentence, unsure of what to say.

“No, Sansa, it's quite alright. In fact, I believe this is very much your concern, Jon is your brother after all.”

Dany knew it would probably feel good, a relief even, to finally confide in someone about how much she was hurting and how dearly she missed him. Not even Missandei had managed to convince her to talk about any it. Of course she knew, and had made several attempts to start a conversation about it, but had given up eventually as Daenerys had persistently maintained her silence. But with the imminent arrival of the council members and the hours of strategy discussions that lay ahead of them, it was simply not the moment to start deconstructing her emotional walls. Audible footsteps out in the hallway only confirmed that assessment.

“To answer your question as briefly as possible: Yes, I do believe he is an exception. Jon is … he’s … well, he’s unlike anyone I have ever met before … .”

Now it was Sansa squeezing her hand before letting it go and beginning to rearrange the forgotten piles of parchment still in front of her. Before she rose from her seat to greet the people who were beginning to file into the room from the hallway she leaned over to Dany and whispered: “He will come around. I will talk to him. In times like these love is much too precious to simply throw away."


	4. Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How is this for a quick update? Gotta admit I'm a bit proud of myself. I sort of have been living on the road lately, so reliable internet access has been a rarity. Although that doesn’t account for my late updates entirely, you may blame this circumstance to a certain extent.

Davos was talking about some book about the Isle of Naath he was currently reading when they reached the council meeting chamber. Jon had not been listening but knew that Davos had been given this particular book by Sam on his own request shortly after they had arrived in Winterfell, which meant that he was either not a very fast reader, or had developed a passionate interest for the subject. Or perhaps both. Jon slowed his stride and let his Hand enter the room first, pretending to readjust his sword belt for a moment. He did not know for sure that Daenerys was already in there, but thought it likely, as she was usually on time if not early for the meetings.

_She doesn't want to give them more reason to hate her._

He cursed inwardly. He had anticipated a certain level of mistrust and caution on the Northern side, as the story - _myth_ - of Rhaegar Targaryen kidnapping and raping his aunt - _mother_ \- Lyanna had divided the country decades ago and had planted a deep hate for anything Targaryen here in the North. And yet, Jon had thought, hoped, that the fact that Daenerys had already risked and sacrificed so much for them, paired with the threat of the fast-approaching common enemy from behind the wall, would make people in the North more willing to accept help and at least cooperate. The attack on Daenerys had undeniably confirmed that he had been wrong. 

_Sometimes, you still know nothing, you fool._

He shock his head slightly and straightened his shoulders. Time was up, he knew if he stayed out here in the hallway any longer, someone - Davos most likely - would come out and look for him. He was not ready to see her, face her and all the emotions and guilt that came along with it. But then again, when had he ever been ready. 

_You never deserved her in the first place._

When Jon entered the room the first thing his eyes fixated on was her beautiful, silver hair. No matter how hard he tried, he could not fight the instinct. He allowed himself a few seconds of staring before pretending to look for his seat, but then he noticed the person sitting next to Daenerys and he turned his head again. 

_Sansa? Sansa and Daenerys?_  

He had never seen them sit together, let alone talk. Even more surprising to him was that judging by their body language they actually seemed quite comfortable in each others company. Before he could dwell more on the unusual scene in front of him however, the door to the chamber was closed with a heavy thud and the few people who had remained standing made their way around the large table. Jon found his chair next to Davos and sat, casting a brief glance over to his sister and then Daenerys. He nodded before looking away quickly and focusing on Tyrion who had risen from his seat and cleared his throat audibly.

They spent the next hour going over the latest messages they had received, updating them on the current situation in other parts of the Northern Kingdom. Most troubling of course were the ones reporting the sightings of and even a rising number of encounters with wights. Although comparing this new information with previous sightings allowed them to estimate the pace at which the dead were moving more and more accurately, they had also noticed that the locations sightings were reported from were scattered all over the North, which meant that figuring out the Night King’s tactics had become a task close to impossible. 

Jon was growing increasingly tired of these discussions. The hours they were spending hiding behind Winterfell’s walls, heatedly but nonetheless futilely arguing over plans and possible approaches felt wasted in the face of what was coming. He knew all of their arguments, had heard them dozens of times as he had unsuccessfully tried to convince the council of a more proactive strategy. All his attempts had been to no avail so far, as the majority, including both his and Daenerys’ advisors, were fearing irrecuperable losses on their side, which meant certain defeat in the long run. Daenerys herself had been unusually quiet throughout all the meetings so far and had kept her opinion to herself most of the time. It was a stark contrast to the assertive and sometimes downright arrogant behavior he had witnessed from the Dragon Queen during his time on Dragonstone and it worried him. Of course he knew that, at least in part, he had to blame himself for her emotional state. If he was being completely honest with himself, he had been feeling just as miserable and was presumably simply better at compartmentalizing. He had somehow convinced himself that keeping his distance would ensure Daenerys’ safety more than anything else. It had almost been too easy to cork up all of his own feelings and hurt in exchange for that. At least, that is how he felt most of the time. 

But then there were those moments, such as during dinner, or even right now, when he had the chance to just look at her. Take her in, all of her, her beauty, her grace, her youth. The little frown that she used to wear more often now, the way her full eyelashes touched her cheeks every time she blinked, her smile that had become such a rare sight but was still the loveliest thing he could imagine. In those moments he could not help but feel it, his broken heart, the hole in it that only she could ever hope to mend. He could feel the strain it took on his body and soul to stay away. Keeping his distance had become harder than staying under water, every fibre of his body urging him to finally come up for air. 

“Lord Snow, do you have anything to add?”

Hearing his name almost made Jon jump. He had absolutely no idea what was currently being discussed and what he was supposed to say. He turned to his right and saw Davos giving him a questioning look. It was pointless trying to pretend he knew what they had been talking about and, as he briskly decided, it was even more pointless pretending any longer that he cared. He could see that Tyrion was about to repeat his question so he rose from his chair to a standing position, his hands resting on the edge of the wooden table in front of him. 

“As a matter of fact, I do.” 

He could feel Daenerys’ eyes on him but willed himself to continue, focusing on Tyrion, letting all of his pent-up frustration drive him forward. 

“This is useless. All of this. We have been talking for weeks now, going back and forth, arguing, and still we have nothing. We're exactly where we were when we started. We're wasting time that we do not have. I cannot and will not condone this any longer. We need to act, at least try. Try _something_. We have no idea what is going on out there. We have been relying on reports from others, and while they are out _there_ , risking their lives, we are hiding in _here_ , doing _absolutely nothing_.” 

“Lord Snow, you must certainly see that--,” after Jon’s sudden outburst Tyrion was the first to find his voice, but was instantly interrupted again.

“I know, Tyrion, I know about the risks. We are outnumbered, half of the Dothrakis and Unsullied are already sick from the cold, we do not have the supplies or facilities to care for hundreds of injured, our armies are still not a united front … . I know all of this and still, I stand by what I’ve said. None of this will change for the better the longer we wait. In fact, the opposite is much more likely. We need to act _now_ , while we still _can_.”  

The room was silent for a moment. It seemed nobody knew how to proceed after what had just been said. When Tyrion opened his mouth once more to speak, Daenerys, quite her old self in that moment, motioned for him to be quiet and addressed Jon herself.  

“Fair enough, Lord Snow. What is it you propose we do then?” 

Her voice was firm, not cold but resolute. She continued to look at him directly and it threw him off balance for a few seconds. 

_I propose we take your dragons and fly them as far away from here as possible. I propose we find a place warm and beautiful that we can call home and live together in blissful ignorance of the world around us. I propose you let me protect you and love you until the day we both peacefully die together from old age._

He cast his eyes down to the table between them, blinking a few times to regain his focus and gather his thoughts. 

“Your Grace, I believe it must become our priority to get a clearer picture of the situation out there. Waiting and relying on updates from other locations is not enough. We need to see for ourselves.” _You need to see it to know._  She had said it herself once. He continued: “ We should put together scouting units. I will lead one of them towards Karhold. That’s where the highest number of wights has been reported.” 

When he met Daenerys’ eyes again he could read in them what she could not tell him in front of everyone in the room. _I don’t want you to go. I can’t let you. I need you alive. I need you with me. I need you._ He knew how she felt because he felt it, too. And it took all of his willpower to stop himself from telling her exactly that. For a moment, he let his eyes show her the truth, but he did not want to give himself away entirely, so he turned to Davos, who had begun to speak. 

“I am not an expert in any of this, but I do know this much: waiting here and holding meeting after meeting hasn’t brought us any closer to defeating the dead. The Lannister forces are - most likely - not coming. Shouldn’t have believed it in the first place … but anyhow. I agree with the King, it’s time for action. Planning will be easier knowing what’s out there. But the territory we need to cover is vast and we can only do so much on horseback. I suggest using the dragons. We have them. Your Grace, “ he gave a respectful nod towards Daenerys, “you have them. They are our greatest advantage. Let’s use them.” 

A murmur of approval passed around the table, especially among the few Northern Lords who were present for the meeting. 

“Let her prove her worth!”

"If she can indeed control them, why not?”

“Better risk the beasts than hundreds of our men and horses!” 

“She’ll be able to see from up there …”  

“We’ll know if we can trust her … “

For the first time, there seemed to be some sort of consent. They were challenging her, ordering her to prove her loyalties, willing her to stand by her declaration of allegiance.   

Jon’s mind was reeling.  _No. No, no, no_. This was the opposite of what he had intended. He wanted to object, make clear that under no circumstances did his plan involve risking Daenerys’ life and the life of her dragons. But how? He had been the one encouraging, _urging_ , action. They would deem him a complete and utter coward if he argued against his own plan mere minutes later. Almost desperately, he looked to Tyrion for help. Their eyes met for a brief moment and a silent agreement passed between them. 

“My Lords, if I may intervene … this doesn’t seem wise. Surely, everyone agrees that the dragons are our most valuable weapon and therefore cannot be risked for scouting purposes. If we use them prematurely and they are lost, we are all lost. If the Queen is harmed--,” again, Tyrion was interrupted by Daenerys, who spoke up for the second time, now seemingly addressing the entire room. 

“If the majority of council members present agree that my dragons and I should partake in the scouting and believe that our participation might help gather useful information on our enemy, then I will certainly consider this proposal. As I have said before, I have come to help. We are in this war together.” 

She let her eyes wander around the table for a moment. When she finally met Jon’s he knew, again, exactly what she was telling him. _Together? Remember? If you go, I go_. And for a second, something else crossed her face, a smirk perhaps? _Just try and stop me._

What had he done? 

 

 

 

 

 


	5. Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello dear readers! (Or should I say: dearest fellow Jonerys fangirls and -boys because - quite frankly - who else would bother reading this, right?! LOL)
> 
> Thank you all for the lovely comments! Your feedback is much appreciated! 
> 
> While writing this I realized that what I had intended to be one chapter wouldn’t match the length of the previous ones so I decided to split it into two. So this is technically the first half. The next one (and second half) is not completely finished yet but since this one kind of ends with (another) cliffhanger and I have been torturing you guys with loads of angst and very little fluff … I might just upload it anyways. Soon-ish at least :D. Just let me know how bad you want it. ;) Or if you want it at all. LOL (Shameless comment baiting, I know!) 
> 
> For now, enjoy chapter Five!

 

The sun was setting earlier with each passing day. Supper was still hours away and already, the world outside was pitch-black. From where she was standing - the exact same window she had stood at this morning - she could only see the spots of white snow illuminated by the torches lit in the courtyard. After the council meeting she had left the room in a hurry, feeling Jon’s eyes on her like hot lava and not wanting to reveal any of her own nervousness and fear of what the announcement she had just made in front of the entire council meant.  

She had asked her guards to escort her back to her chambers and had sent for Missandei. She needed her friend. After her conversation with Sansa earlier, the need to confide in someone, to open her heart and unburden herself to a person she could trust had not passed but rather intensified. Too nervous and wound up to sit, Daenerys began pacing the room. What she had told Sansa was true, she was no stranger to stress and worries. Her life had never been easy and she had learned to fight, to stay alive. Viserys had not broken her, and neither had Khal Drogo or any of those other power-mad men she had encountered and dealt with over the years. And yet, coming face-to-face with the Northerners, with those self-righteous lords full of hate for her and her long-dead family, she felt more insecure than she had in a long time. On top of everything else that had happened, this felt like the last straw.  

She knew it was not _queenly_ or even smart, but there was a part of her that desperately wanted to please them, the people here in the North, _Jon’s_ people. In fact, apparently she was so hungry for their trust and approval that she was willing to risk, even sacrifice, herself and the lives of her children to prove herself. She remembered all too vividly what had happened the last - and only - time she and her sons had faced the Army of the Dead. She would never forget Viseron’s cry as the Night King’s spear had pierced his chest and sent him crashing into the frozen lake. She was certain it was going to haunt her in her dreams for the rest of her life. And so would the guilt. 

Following Jon north, she had known that Drogon and Rhaegal would sooner or later have to face the dead again, their dragon fire too valuable of a weapon to be passed over. And even though they would always be her children, no matter how big and terrifying they became to everyone else, she knew they were strong and smart and somewhat protected by their thick, scaled skin. But it was not only them anymore. 

_There's a third now. There’s a third again. There’s our baby._

The baby. _Jon’s_ baby. Dany quit pacing for a moment and looked down at her own body. The intensity of the love she already felt for this tiny human being growing inside her almost scared her. It seemed everything else around her paled in comparison to that feeling. Well, _almost_ everything else. And yet, when she thought of her love for Jon it only seemed to intensify the way she felt for their baby, as if those feelings somehow reinforced one another. Or perhaps, they were simply one. Either way, it filled her heart to the brim and all she wished to do was banish all the fear and uncertainties from her thoughts and simply revel in all that love she carried within herself. What a tempting thought it was to just lock herself away forever and never spend another minute worrying about deadmen and thrones and family names. 

_That’s nonsense. You’re acting like the madwoman people expect you to be._

She slowly moved to a low, cushioned bench beneath one of the windows and sat, burying her face in her hands. She stayed in that position for a moment, simply focusing on her breathing. When she heard the soft knock on her door she sat up.  

“Come.” 

The door opened and revealed Missandei, dressed in a simple, form-fitting woolen dress, balancing a tray with cups and a steaming tea pot in her hands. Relief flooded her at the familiar sight of her friend smiling warmly at her. She instantly felt her tense body relax a bit. There had been so little time for moments like this, for taking a break from the grim reality of preparing for war that had become their daily routine. She would allow herself this tiny but of luxury, just an hour of escaping the resentful stares and discontented whispering following her around wherever she went. 

Missandei set the tray she was carrying on a low table in front of Daenerys and moved to sit beside her on the bench. Encouraged as she realized her nerves had already calmed considerably in the presence of her friend, she felt more confident now that she would be able to have this conversation without dissolving into floods of tears. The last thing she wanted to do was add to the concern she could already see in Missandei’s eyes. In the years they had known each other they had become close friends, yet Dany had been careful never to let her composure slip completely. She was still a queen, even in the privacy of her own bedchamber. It was a role she did not feel she could slip in and out of easily, so she had decided long ago that instead of playing it whenever necessary, she would become her role entirely. Up until that fateful day many weeks ago when she and Jon had met for the first time in the throne room at Dragonstone, she had never questioned or regretted that decision. And then, in what felt like an instance and an eternity at the same time, it had all changed. From that moment on he had, slowly but surely, turned her world upside down. She had never felt the way she did now, so certain about one thing and so completely in doubt about everything else. 

She looked up from her lap when she felt Missandei’s soft hand grasp one of hers.

“What can I do for you, Daenerys?” 

She had asked Missandei to call her by her first name in private many years ago, not finding the usual formal address appropriate during intimate conversations. There was always something very soothing about hearing her name from her friend’s mouth. 

“To be quite honest, I don’t even know where to begin …” 

The confidence she had felt moments before already fading, she lowered her gaze to the ground once more. 

_Why is this so difficult? Why does everything have to be so awfully difficult?_

Missandei seemed to sense her reluctance and reached for the tea pot, pouring the hot liquid into the two cups and handing one of them to Dany. 

“I know the past few weeks have been hard for you. Painful even. You carry so much weight on your shoulders, Daenerys. And while it's unfortunately impossible for me to alleviate all of it, I am quite able to share some of the burdens with you. Please don’t feel like you are alone in this. I'm here, to help you and support you in any capacity you are willing to let me.”  

Dany could already feel the - by now familiar - tightening in her throat and closed her eyes to fight the burning sensation of fresh tears already brimming there, threatening to fall.  

_Pull yourself together, godsdammit! At least try to preserve what little dignity you have left._

“I know and I truly am grateful for that …” 

Her voice was hoarse and shaky, blatantly betraying her in her desperate attempt to keep her composure. 

“What was said today during the meeting, what they said about you … it was spiteful and unjust, Daenerys. You don’t deserve to be treated that way. I have spoken to Lord Tyrion about the lords and their … _attitude_ towards you. He kept stressing the fact that Northerners are known for their stubbornness and uncompromising nature. He believes— “ 

“They are right.” 

Dany raised her head in emphasis and met her friend's kind, brown eyes as she cut her off mid-sentence. 

“Oh, no. No, of course not! He would never say that—“  

“No, but I do. They are right. They have every reason not to trust me. You know it, I know it, Tyrion _definitely_ knows it, too. We expected this to be difficult, we knew they would likely have their reservations about me. But look at us now, it’s a mess. Two weeks in and everything is a mess. I really thought I could handle it. I thought we would … I never expected … I thought he … he—,” the rest of her sentence was swallowed by a series of uncontrollable sobs that had finally managed to escape her. It did not matter. Missandei knew. She always did.

Dany felt herself pulled into a tight embrace by her friend and did not resist. It was pointless. She suddenly felt drained of all energy and gratefully rested her head on Missandei’s shoulder, soaking it with her tears now spilling freely down her face as violent sobs continued to rip through her. She could faintly hear a voice in the back of her head telling her to get her act together, but she was too tired and too miserable to listen. It felt so good to be held, to let go, to give in to the despair she had been trying to suppress for so long.  

She did not know for how long they simply sat there as she cried, not able to get a single word out as Missandei began to gently rock her, holding her firmly and rubbing her back with one hand soothingly. Finally, when the sobs began to ebb, Dany raised her head and gratefully accepted the tissue Missandei handed her. 

“I’m …,” she swallowed thickly and tried again, her voice still unsteady, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for this to happen. I’m not usually this … _emotional_  .” 

Missandei smiled at her warmly and shook her head slightly.  

“I’m glad you finally allowed it. Besides, I believe it’s not you _alone_ we should blame for the tears … .” Dany followed Missandei’s eyes as they drifted down and settled on her stomach for a moment. 

"You _both_ miss him. “

At that, she began to cry anew, merely able to nod. She felt Missandei’s hand on top of hers that had come to rest on her middle.  

“I’m not sure you want to hear this right now, but _this_ … ,” Missandei nodded towards their hands on her stomach, “this is wonderful news, Daenerys! I’d even say it’s a _miracle_ considering what you told me about the … _curse_ and everything. I'm so, so happy for you. Gods, for all of us! We can all use a little bit of hope right now.” 

Dany could feel the words warm her aching broken heart, but she only gave herself a brief moment to enjoy it. 

“I’m so afraid to hope when part of me still feels so certain that I will never get to hold this baby in my arms.” 

It hurt her to say it out loud, but she knew it would not do her any good to shut herself off again at this point.  

“May I ask what makes you be so sure about that?,” Missandei’s voice was calm and soft, without even a hint of impatience or judgement. 

“The past, the present … the future most of all,” Dany had spent so much time in her own head pondering over her situation, she did not have to think long on an answer. “How can we hope when death is literally marching towards us?”  

Missandei’s reply came almost equally as quick and full of confidence: “Oh, I believe that's actually the best reason to look for any kind of hope! And there’s always hope as long as there’s life. We aren't dead, yet. You, of all people, have something to fight for. Now more than ever before.” 

“He doesn’t know.” Of course it was redundant to tell Missandei this, but Dany knew she needed to make an effort to stir the conversation into that direction, her friend too polite and respectful to ask her directly. 

“And I believe you should talk to him. He needs to know. Especially now with the plan for scouting missions in full motion.”

_And my foolish announcement to participate in them … ._  

Missandei knew as well as herself that what she had practically agreed to was beyond risky in the light of what had happened beyond the wall. She would never openly question Dany’s decisions, let alone scold her for being imprudent, but in this matter Dany would not even have minded. It was not, however, that she simply regretted the decision. She still believed that beside the fact that she considered it her duty as a leader to fight in the coming war and do everything in her power to give them a chance at winning, she also thought it her only opportunity to appease the Northern Lords and perhaps even win some of them over. The thought of putting her unborn baby in mortal danger was beyond conflicting, an act completely against her maternal instincts. But she did not feel like she had a choice. 

“I can’t. He would never let me go if he knew.” She paused for a second, the subject she was about to broach so painful she debated for a moment if she had already gone too far to backpedal now. _Of course_ she had. And it was no use anyway. “We haven’t spoken since … that day … and … ,” she took a few steadying breaths to keep her emotions in check. There had been more than enough tears shed in one day. “I don’t want him to feel obligated to come back to me because of the baby. If he feels he can’t be with me anymore he shouldn’t have to be.” 

Glancing down into her lap and clenching her hands into tight fists until she felt her fingernails digging painfully into the skin of her palms was all she could do to keep the tears that had gathered in the corner of her eyes again from spilling over.  

“If you told him,” Missandei ventured carefully, “there is also a chance everything would turn out differently though. Perhaps his feelings haven’t changed as much as you might believe right now.”  

“I can’t take that chance, Missandei. I just can’t.” 

For the first time, her voice sounded resolute, almost like herself again. 

“I understand. But you will not be able to hide it from him forever. He _will_ find out at some point. And from what I know, it won’t be long now until I will have to let out these dresses of yours.” Missandei smiled and brushed a hand over the long skirt of Daenerys’ gown. 

 “It’s still early. Nobody will be able to tell for a while … .”  

“Not _that_ early, I believe. You should probably see a maester - the sooner the better - but I am quite certain the last time you bled was before we left Dragonstone. Two, almost three weeks on the ship _plus_ the time we spent in White Harbour with the Manderlys and traveling from there to Winterfell on horseback _plus_ the two weeks we have now been here … it’s been— “ 

“… almost three months,” Dany finished, her voice only slightly above a whisper. “Oh gods, I truly hadn’t even thought that far … .” 

It was the truth. In retrospect, the two weeks since Jon and her had last spoken seemed like an eternity compared to the weeks they had spent traveling together. It had not all been easy, a stormy sea and heavy snowfalls slowing them down significantly. But the nights they had been able to sneak away together had made up for all of it. 

“That’s what you have me for, to worry about things like that.” 

Missandei’s voice brought her out of her daydream along with a knock on her door. 

She quickly grabbed another tissue to wipe her nose and began combing her fingers through her disheveled hair as Missandei rose to let the visitor in. She was not expecting anyone and guessed it was Tyrion wanting to speak with her after what had transpired during the council meeting earlier. 

She raised her head when she heard Missandei clear her throat audibly. Standing in the doorframe, wearing his usual frown and his dark eyes intently fixed on her, was Jon Snow.  

They stared at each other for a moment before he turned his head and nodded to Missandei who had stepped aside and opened the door for him to enter. When Jon had crossed the threshold she moved to leave the room after casting one last glance back to Daenerys, giving her an encouraging smile. 

“I’ll give you two some privacy.” 

And with that, the door closed behind her. 

 

 


	6. Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, chapter 6 / part 2 of chapter 5 ;)  
> All that's left for me to say is ... please don't hate me! :D 
> 
> It will get better, I promise!
> 
> As always, constructive criticism is most welcome!

 

As the door was closed behind him, a heavy silence fell over them. Suddenly, he felt as if all oxygen had been drained from the room at Missandei’s departure and his breathing became shallow and uneven. Why had he even come here? He was not entirely sure. After that godsforsaken meeting he had spent almost an hour pacing outside in the snow, pondering his own stupidity. How had he not seen this coming? Why did he have to be so impulsive? He could have said something else. He should have interrupted Davos. He should have stopped her from agreeing to this nonsense. 

_I should have kept my fucking mouth shut in the first place. That’s what I should have done._

But none of that was going to help him now, so he eventually made his way back inside the castle and went straight for Daenerys’ quarters. Maybe there was still time to change her mind. But then again, had he not forsaken that right weeks ago? Why would she listen to him, of all people? 

Judging by the way she was looking at him now, his concern over whether she would even speak to him was not at all unwarranted. Her eyes were red-rimmed and puffy, she clearly had been crying, and her jaw was clenched tight as if to keep herself from yelling at him. 

_She wants to throw me out of here and I can’t even blame her._  

But _gods_ , was she still beautiful. It pained him beyond measure to see her this way, and the urge to throw all caution out the window and pull her into his arms was getting more difficult to fight with every silent second that passed between them. 

As if he had suddenly remembered that _he_ was the one who had sought _her_ out and was now standing in her chambers gaping at her like an idiot, he broke their eye contact and took a tentative step toward her, clasping his hands that had been hanging uselessly at his sides behind his back.  

“Your Grace, I … ,” he paused and cleared his throat because to his dismay his voice had sounded a great deal too much like his 12-year-old self. “I came to see if we could talk?” The rest of the sentence came out less shaky, yet still not as determined as he had hoped. It had not escaped his notice how Daenerys had grimaced slightly at his return to a formal address even in private, but she made no comment. Instead, she nodded at him and gestured towards a chair to her left.  

“Only if you sit.” 

Compared to all the things he so desperately wanted, but could not do for her, this was easy. He took his seat after turning the chair to face her directly. Now that she was only a few feet away she looked even more fragile. Her face was paler than usual, save for the red patches around her eyes and nose, and her cheek bones seemed more prominent. Yet, her expression was calm, only her hands that were tightly folded in her lap, the delicate knuckles already turning white, giving away her tension. 

Another few moments passed in profound silence, as Jon considered his next words. He knew Daenerys was watching him. The anger he had seen in her eyes upon his arrival had disappeared, and when he met her gaze again the sadness it held felt like a knife stabbed into his heart. Not the way he imagined it would feel but how he knew it did. How had this happened? How had all of this gone to shit so quickly? How would he ever be able to stay away from the one thing that felt right in his life? The one thing that felt more precious than anything else. Looking at her, being so close to her, he could already feel his resistance falter. The past two weeks of withstanding her pull had consumed every last bit of his energy. 

Still without an idea how to begin the conversation in a manner that would not irritate her right away and knowing that any previously conceived strategy would most likely not help him anyway, he decided to simply take the plunge. 

“I wanted to speak to you about the meeting today.” 

“I gathered as much”

“Right.” 

The coolness in her voice unsettled him and he adjusted his position in the chair in an attempt to hide his unease. 

“I think you should reconsider your decision.” 

She frowned at him, her lavender eyes piercing. 

“I don’t recall having made any decisions yet.” 

“Aye, well, you said—“

“I said I would consider the proposal. Nothing more and nothing less.” Her eyes traveled down to her hands still resting in her lap before she continued, her voice a little less firm: “I don’t make decisions without consulting the people they affect first.”

Jon obviously knew what she was implying but refused to let her stir them down _that_ road so soon. He needed her to listen to him first. 

“Aye, you say you don’t. But making that announcement during the meeting with everyone present, you knew there would be very little to no chance to go back on your word later.” 

“Oh, is that so?” 

_There we go. Now I’ve made her angry._

Daenerys had almost jumped from her seat and was standing now, her arms crossed over her chest, which was rising and falling rapidly with every huffy breath she took. 

“May I remind you that _you_ were the one who convinced me to join into this war in the first place? I am here because you said you were lost without me and my dragons. I am here because you convinced me to fight alongside you. I am here because afterseeing them, after you showing me, I didn’t have a choice. My dragon died at his hand. This war is just as real to me as it is to anyone else here, maybe even more so. And you, of all people, are smart enough to know that Davos is right. We need to see what is happening out there and the best way to do that is from high above. If my participation in the scouting helps your people hate me a little less, that’s a bonus I will gladly accept.” 

At that last remark she turned and walked over to one of the windows facing Winterfell’s courtyard. He had known before he came here that trying to change her mind on this was likely a futile mission, but he was not ready to give up just yet.

“It’s too dangerous, Dany. 

“Oh, so _now_ it’s _Dany_ again?” 

He ignored her cynical retort and continued: "You're not invincible. The dragons are not invincible. You know what happened last time. I can’t let that—“ 

“I know it’s dangerous,” she cut him off once more. “War is dangerous. War is destruction and death. We both know that. You knew that before you brought me here.”  

Jon, too, had risen from his chair and began to slowly make his way over to where she was standing by the window. He stopped with still several feet between them, not nearly as close to her as he longed to be but still considerably closer than they had been in weeks. To prevent his hands from reaching out for her he clasped them tightly behind his back again. 

“Aye, I did. And I’m not saying that we shouldn’t use the dragons at all or hide them away. But this … ,” he made an aimless gesture towards the window, “doing this, using them for scouting is an unnecessary risk we don’t have to take. We have enough men to cover this.”  

She was still looking out the window when she spoke again, her voice no longer strained with anger, but heavy with defeat. 

“It’s not like I’m excited at the thought of putting them in danger again. Gods, the prospect of potentially losing one of them, or getting hit by one of those ice spears myself … it’s not like I’m looking forward to it, Jon.”

He could hear her fear behind those words, could see it mirrored in the way she was now hugging herself, her arms tightly wrapped around her middle as if she was cold. 

“I’m not ready to lose one of them. To lose … there’s … .” 

Her voice trailed off. Jon saw a single tear escaping from her glassy eyes. She wiped it away quickly, but it was enough. It effectively shattered what had remained of his brittle resolve and he closed the distance between them, pulling her into his arms and holding her tightly against his chest. For a moment he could feel her hesitation, her body still tense, before she gave in with a sigh and rested her head below his chin. 

They stayed like this for what could have been minutes or hours, enjoying each others’ warmth and familiar scent, reveling in a blissful moment of feigned peace between them. 

After a while, without loosening his arms around her, he said, more in a gentle whisper than out loud: “I don’t want you to go out there, Dany.”  

_I can’t stand the thought. It would kill me._

She did not respond right away. Jon could feel her now much calmer breaths tingle the sensitive skin at his throat before she slowly raised her head from his chest and looked up at him. Relieved, he noticed that her eyes were no longer shining with unshed tears. Instead, he saw the hint of a familiar spark in there. _Hope_. 

“Why?,” was all she said, holding his gaze, studying him closely. 

“It’s too dangerous, I told you. I can’t risk you being killed.”  

It was the truth. But the moment he had said it he could see in her eyes that it was not what she had wanted to hear. She removed her hands from where they had rested on his shoulders and when she took a step back, he instantly felt as if the temperature in the room had dropped by 10 degrees. 

“That’s the reason why Tyrion or Varys wouldn’t want me to go. I want to know why _you_ don’t want me to go.” 

Her violet stare was intense and unrelenting. Jon knew she finally had him where she wanted him. He swallowed thickly.  

“You know why.” 

His voice suddenly sounded hoarse. He knew he was being a coward but he did not feel he had a choice. He had to keep her safe. Even if that meant hurting her again. 

"That’s not enough, Jon. I want you to tell me.” 

He could hear the disappointment and desperation in her words and it almost made him crumble.  

_No._

He shook his head and cast his eyes to the floor, no longer able to look at her, to watch his words break her again, right in front him. 

“I can’t.” 

“ _For fuck’s sake_ , Jon! Say it! Why can't you say it?” 

He knew she was crying without looking up, the tears making her voice rasping and shaky. 

_You’re the biggest idiot in any of the whatever how many kingdoms, Jon Snow. Congratulations on making this situation even more fucked-up than it already was._

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” 

“Don’t you dare!” 

The anger had returned. When he raised his eyes to meet hers, her face was contorted in fury and devastation. 

“I don’t want to hear it. Either be honest or get out. Your silence is more bearable than your dishonesty.” 

“Dany-“ 

“Leave me.” 

“I can’t leave like—“ 

“Get out!”

At that, she turned abruptly and marched to the door that, as Jon knew, led into her bedchamber. When it fell shut behind her and he heard the click of the lock being turned he knew it was final.  

He had gotten his chance and he had screwed it up. 


	7. Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 7 is here, my friends!! :) To be honest, it was a bit of a challenge to write and took longer than I expected. (I feel like I say this every time but it's true, sadly) After the last two (angst-packed) chapters, I really wanted it to be lighter and just overall more fun to read ... so let me know how I did?! :)

Daenerys sat on the bed until she heard him leave the room. After that ugly confrontation she had expected more tears to come, even thought an afternoon spent alone and feeling sorry for herself was completely appropriate. But the tears had ebbed away and she realized that she was thoroughly tired of feeling miserable and letting herself wallow in it. She still desperately wished for things to be different, but at least now she knew it was pointless to wait for Jon to come to his senses. He clearly would not any time soon. Whatever it was that was holding him back, whether it was still the news of their shared blood, or something else she did not know or see, it was apparently out of her control to change his mind. She was tired of guessing and hoping and having to deal with the disappointment day after day, watching him from afar and realizing that still nothing had changed. 

_At least Tyrion will be pleased to see I got my priorities back on track. We’re back to warfare and conquering kingdoms._

She rose from her seat on the bed and poured herself a glass of water from the pitcher on one of the bedside tables. She was done with the pity. There was still an army of undead men to defeat and a throne to take. And if they were all indeed about to die, she did not want to go down like this. This was not her. She had allowed her broken heart to control her for far too long already, while she really should have known better than to give a man such power over her. 

_It’s enough._  

She opened the door to the front room and called for a guard. She wanted to speak to Tyrion and inform him that she, Drogon and Rhaegal would be available to join the scouting troops starting the following morning. In part, it was her determination to do her duty that had settled the decision for her. But she could not deny that deep down, concern and fear was still nagging at her. Making her choice public would ensure that she would see things through. 

After a brief conversation with Tyrion during which she avoided the concerned look in his eyes and swiftly dismissed him when they had gone over the most essential points, she pulled a thick fur coat over her gown and left her chambers. This might just be her last opportunity to spend time with her sons away from the battlefield and the Night King’s ice spears and she was not about to waste it. 

She dismissed her guards once they were outside of Winterfell’s gates and at the edge of the forest. One of them handed her a torch and she started to make her way through the trees. Drogon and Rhaegal were already in sight, waiting for her at the center of a large clearing. They had picked this spot themselves, landing here the first time Dany had called them down after they had arrived at the Stark’s fortress, and doing so ever since. The time she had spent here over the past two weeks being with her dragons had provided her with the comfort she had needed to not fall apart entirely. Now, with the knowledge of what they would soon be facing again at the back of her mind, Dany realized just how much their presence had calmed and sustained her lately.  

_I suppose that’s what most people have families for._

When she reached the clearing, both dragons turned their heads towards her and she could hear the content, low-pitched rumbling sounds they always greeted her with. Rhaegel rose from his position on the ground to make room for her to settle down between them, but as she moved to approach them she heard someone snicker behind her and froze. 

"Gods, they're ginormous!”

The voice sounded familiar. The initial panic fading, she turned around. It was dark around her, but the light from the torch in her hand was only just bright enough so she could discern the face in front of her. 

“Lady Arya! You startled me! I didn't even hear footsteps."

At that, the grin on Arya’s face disappeared and she retorted: “Don’t call me that, I’m no lady. It’s just Arya.”

Ignoring the girl’s rather rude tone, Dany decided to play along. 

"Well, _just_ Arya, may I ask what you are doing here?” 

The toothy smile had returned to Arya’s face and she answered quite enthusiastically: “I’ve been wanting to see them from up close since you first got here. They’re amazing. I mean … terrifying! Truly terrifying beasts you got there. But they’re gorgeous!” A few seconds passed with Arya simply marvelling at the two dragons in front of her, before she suddenly seemed to remember who she was speaking to and hurriedly added: “Your Grace!” The grin was still spread wide across her face, however, giving away that she was not truly that concerned about slipping manners. 

Dany could not help but smile herself. She knew bits and pieces about Arya’s past and had seen her with a sword. She was much more deadly than her youth and size led on. But seeing her like this, so utterly excited, her eyes beaming with almost childlike wonder, reminded Dany of the stories Jon had told her of their childhood and how Arya had always admired strong women like Nymeria the warrior-queen and Visenya Targaryen. 

“If you’re _just_ Arya, I’m _just_ Daenerys.”

Arya nodded, respect and something else Dany could not quite put her finger on flickering in her dark eyes that looked so much like Jon’s. 

“You know, what you just said about my dragons … that’s exactly what your brother said the first time he met them.”

“And what did you tell him?”  

Dany turned her head to look at her sons. It was one of her most cherished memories, that moment out on the cliffs of Dragonstone when Jon had reached his hand up to Drogon’s snout and her heart had almost skipped a beat, expecting some sort of negative reaction from the dragon, but then watching in amazement as he had merely taken a tentative sniff at Jon’s hand and accepted his pat unfazed. And of course, by now she had learned why. Regardless, seeing him with the dragons that day, clearly intimidated but determined not to yield to his fear, had stirred something deep within her and the memory still warmed her heart. 

She turned to look at Arya again and said: “I told him that no matter how big and terrifying they were to everyone else, they’d always be my children.” After a moment she added: "He’s probably one of the few people who at least come close to understanding that.”  

“You’re in love with him.”

It was not a question, rather an observation, her voice nonchalant and her face not giving away if she held any kind of opinion on the matter. As the way Arya had noted it so casually left very little room for Dany to deny anything, she instinctively decided she would not. 

“Is it that obvious?”  

“Oh”, Arya chuckled, crossing her arms in front of her chest and smirking at her, “it's more than obvious. At least I think so. Sansa wouldn’t believe me at first, but she caught on eventually.” 

“I see.” 

“Don’t worry about it. Jon’s even worse at hiding it than you are.” 

“What?” 

Until this morning they had not spoken in weeks. For all she knew he had been avoiding her like the plague. 

“He’s staring at you. Like a godsdamn idiot. It’d be funny if it wasn’t so pathetic.” 

She huffed at Arya’s crudeness and briefly considered scolding her for speaking of Jon in this manner, but then decided that he probably deserved it.

“I hate to ruin the fun for you but I’m afraid you might have been misinterpreting things. Your brother has barely spoken to me since we arrived here. For all I know he doesn’t care about me at all.”  

_I’m his aunt by blood. Even the idea of Us probably disgusts him._  

At that, Arya gave an amused snort and raised her eyebrows challengingly. 

“Is that why he was knocking at your door earlier looking more nervous than Lady Brienne during my sparring sessions with her? He was in there for quite a while, wasn’t he? And when he came out he made that face … that face that says ‘Why is the entire world against me when I only ever try to do my duty.’"

_Oh yes, I'm all too familiar with that face._

Dany knew she should probably tell the girl off for her cheekiness, but in a strange way it felt good to be made fun of by her, to not take everything so seriously. She needed that reminder, that even during the darkest of times, humor was never lost until people decided to give up on it. 

She felt laughter bubble up inside of her but decided to hold it back just a little longer so she could give Arya a taste of her own medicine first. It took quite a bit of self control but she managed to keep a straight face and gave the Stark girl the sternest look she was able to muster. Her heart had already decided that she liked Jon’s youngest sister very much, but surrendering to her teasing without at least some kind of payback was simply not in her nature. 

Arya wasn’t fazed too easily, but the feigned irritation in Dany’s eyes got to her eventually and the smug grin on her face faded. 

“Or maybe you were merely discussing the weather. None of my business, I suppose,” she half-mumbled and shrugged, her unease evident in the way she began to scrape one foot through the fallen leaves on the ground. 

“No, it’s alright, Arya. I’m only jesting.” Dany was laughing now, not able to hold it back any longer and thoroughly enjoying the almost forgotten feeling of lightness spreading in her chest. “I do know that face. He used to wear it a lot when we first met.” 

She could see the relief in Arya’s eyes as the smile on her face reappeared. 

“That was mean! You’re good!”

Still sniggering, Dany raised her shoulders in a small shrug and held up her hands in feigned modesty. 

“So does that mean you didn’t get along when you met?” 

“Definitely not! Not right away, anyway,” Dany replied, shaking her head. “I was furious at him after our first encounter. He managed to get under my skin within the first two minutes of our conversation. Now I think I was probably more angry at myself for feeling so flustered by the presence of a handsome stranger.” 

“You think he’s handsome?”  

“Oh, _very_ handsome! Don’t you think?” 

Arya frowned and twisted her mouth. 

“He’s my _brother._  I think he’s an idiot. And I love him. But I wouldn’t say I spend a whole lot of time pondering his handsomeness.”

A pang of loss tightened Dany’s chest at hearing the matter of fact tone in Arya’s voice, naturally referring to Jon as her brother. It was evident that the bond between the Stark siblings, forged while growing up together, went far beyond blood relation. They were a family. Not too long ago, Dany had hoped to become a part of that family one day. But everything was different now. It was almost cruel. Strictly speaking, Jon _was_ her family, nothing he could do would change that. But none of it mattered as long as his heart was not in it. She smoothed a hand over the still mostly flat expanse of her belly, thinking of their baby nestled safely inside her. 

_My family. Our family._

In this moment, the deepest, most desperate desire of her heart, while seemingly at arm’s reach, somehow felt more impossible than ever. She suddenly felt Arya’s eyes on her, watching her questioningly. 

“Forgive me, I got distracted for a moment,” she hurried to explain and tried to remember what she had wanted to say. 

Arya merely smirked.

“You look a lot like him, you know?” 

It was true. Dany had thought so from the moment they had ridden through Winterfell’s gates and she had spotted Jon’s siblings waiting to greet them. 

“I suppose I have to thank my aunt Lyanna for that,” Arya replied and turned towards the dragons again. Drogon and Rhaegal had not moved, but were watching them intently.  

“Do you reckon Jon could ride one of them? I mean with him being Rhaegar’s son and all … .” 

The question did not surprise her. In fact, she had already entertained the idea herself, but had decided to refrain from any such thinking for the time being. It seemed pointless.  

“I can’t say, Arya. It might be possible. But I don’t know. And frankly, I don’t believe he has any interest in trying at the moment.” 

Arya nodded, her eyes still on the dragons in front of them. 

“Would you like to?” 

At that, Arya turned abruptly, her eyes shooting up to meet Dany’s. 

“To do what?”, she asked, looking utterly bewildered. 

“To ride them,” Dany smiled and nodded towards her sons. 

“Are you serious?”

Arya stood stock-still as if suddenly rooted to the ground, staring at Dany with disbelief, her eyes wide with surprise and excitement. 

“Come on,” Dany encouraged, winking at her, “let me show you Winterfell from above!”

* * *

 

When she returned to the castle more than an hour later, she was in such good spirits it felt like she was seeing Winterfell for the first time and everything about it was suddenly more inviting. The torch-lit courtyard now had a welcoming quality and the illuminated windows seemed to promise warmth and coziness. Arya’s excited shouts and shrieks were still ringing in her ears and her cheeks felt pleasantly warm despite the stinging cold outside. As she walked, closely followed by two of her guards, she looked back at the afternoon she had spent with the youngest Stark and realized just how much she had needed that bit of escape. As soon as Drogon’s feet had left the ground she had felt the weight on her chest and shoulders lessen and by the time they had reached the low-hanging clouds she had felt so at ease she had even joined into Arya’s cheering once or twice. 

When she entered her chambers a few minutes later and saw the large iron bathtub set up in from of the hearth, her first impulse was to throw her arms  around Missandei and kiss her in gratitude. Upon seeing the bucket full of scalding hot water her friend was currently carrying she refrained from any such rash actions and simply beamed at her. 

“You’re wonderful! This is exactly what I need!”

“I thought so when I heard that you had gone out to see the dragons."

Missandei smiled back at her and emptied the water from the bucket into the tub. Crouching down next to it she reached for a wooden chest that sat on a stool beside her. It held a variety of small glass bottles that were filled with differently colored liquids. She opened several of them and added a few drops of each to the bath. The steam that was rising from the water began to fill the room with a mix of exotic scents and Dany began to loosen the ribbons on the back of her gown with one hand, eager to get into the hot bath. 

“Here, let me help you with that,” came from Missandei as she stood up and quickly moved over to Dany, expertly untying the the dress in the back and then helping her remove it completely. 

She sank into the water with a deep sigh of contentment and closed her eyes. With what was awaiting her the next day she needed to savour these last moments of peace and quiet. 

“You may retire for the night, Missandei. I can take care of everything else myself.”

Missandei, who had been folding her discarded clothes and was now laying out an assortment of thick towels for her to use after the bath, turned to her, looking puzzled.  

“Are you sure, Daenerys? I should wash your hair and you might need help braiding it later and —“  

“I’m sure. I won’t require any more help tonight. Go, have a nice dinner, maybe a hot bath yourself? And I know there’s somebody else desperate for your company as well … .” She gave her friend a knowing smile and upon seeing Missandei blush, she knew she was right.  

Missandei set the stack of towels on the stool next to the bathtub and moved towards the door. One hand already on the handle she turned around once more:

“I will have some food sent up and instruct the guards that you are not to be disturbed otherwise.” 

Dany nodded. “Thank you.” 

She had already closed her eyes again when she heard the door close behind Missandei. Already, she was beginning to feel sleepy. It made her hopeful for a good night’s rest. 

_I will need it._

Both of her hands had settled on her stomach, her thumbs drawing gentle circles. She began humming quietly.

_We will need it._  

* * *

 

She was woken by a commotion on the other side of her door. The bathwater was still pleasantly warm, which meant she had only dozed off briefly. She could hear several angry male voices but was not able to make out what they were saying. Before she even had the time to consider intervening, the door flew open and somebody stepped inside, shutting and locking it behind them. 

Dany was so surprised it took her a moment to identify the intruder standing before her, staring blankly at her naked form in the water, eyes so dark they seemed to have no pupils. 

“Jon!”  

The sound of her voice made him snap out of his trance. He raised his eyes to meet hers. 

“Why are you here?”

She knew she sounded angry and she was glad of it, but internally she felt torn.

Holding her gaze with his own, his face unexpectedly resolute and determined, he said: “To answer your question,” and after a brief pause added: “Truthfully this time."


	8. Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello to all you lovely people out there! 
> 
> Eight is here! I believe it is my longest to date and while it's not the one that I think many of you were hoping for (yet!! it's coming I promise!!) it was necessary. Hope that makes sense once you've read this part. Just fyi, it doesn't pick up where the last one left off but rather jumps back a few hours ... but you'll see. I hope I made it quite obvious what the timeline is supposed to be here. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy and as always, constructive criticism is most welcome.

There were three firm raps on his door before it was opened. It was Sansa. He knew it could not have been anyone else, as even Davos usually had the courtesy to wait to be called in. She closed the heavy oak door behind her and took a few steps towards him until she was standing in the center of the room on an old, worn-down woollen rug in front of the hearth, still a few feet away from where he was sitting at his desk. The dour expression on her face and the way she held her arms crossed tightly in front of her chest left little hope that she had come for a friendly chat. 

_Excellent! One more headstrong woman I somehow managed to upset. This day keeps getting better and better._  

“What are you doing?” 

The irritation in her voice confirmed his suspicions. 

 “What're you talking about? What am I doing? I’m sitting here, going over these scrolls just like you asked—“ 

“That’s not what I mean, Jon.” 

After the meeting this morning and the disastrous conversation with Daenerys he felt his patience dwindling.

“Then what _do_ you mean, Sansa? Speak your mind. But please be less cryptic."

He could see she was fighting the urge to roll her eyes at him, but instead only gave an annoyed huff. 

_Alright, this is Lady Stark speaking. She wants me to take this seriously._  

“What were you doing in the Queen’s chambers?” 

_Of course. Nothing travels faster than gossip._

He sighed and let himself slump back in his chair. Since they had learned the truth about his birth, both of his sisters had been careful not to bring up the topic of his personal relationship with Daenerys. They undoubtedly sensed that things were amiss between them but had accepted his silence for the time being. Apparently, Sansa had decided that his time was up. 

“Jon, I’m serious! Why were you in there? People are saying they heard you two yelling … .” 

_The dead have breached the wall and these people are still busy spreading rumors. Maybe we deserve to die, all of us. Maybe humanity is beyond saving anyway._

He raised his eyes and met Sansa’s frowning gaze. Concern was written all over her face. 

_She’s too young to worry like this_. 

A wave of brotherly affection and protectiveness for his sister washed over him and he felt his annoyance at her fade. 

“I wasn’t yelling. I promise I wasn’t. I went to her because I wanted to try to talk her out of partaking in the scouting missions. As you might suspect, that didn’t work out too well.”

Grimacing, he raised his shoulders in a defeated shrug. Relieved to see his sister’s features soften, he gestured at an armchair near the fire: “Sit down for a moment?”

Sansa nodded and sat, her eyes still fixed on Jon, silently encouraging him to go on. 

“I can’t let her do this again. The last time I made her face the dead one of her dragons died. It’s my fault, I asked her to come. She saved us and paid the price. This isn’t right. It’s an unnecessary risk we don’t have to take. _Not yet_. There are other ways to do this.”  

The words had come out in a rush, almost as if he wanted to keep himself from thinking on them too long. Looking down at his hands he realized that they were clenched into tight fists and began uncurling his fingers one by one. Jon knew this conversation was long overdue. They needed to be open with each other, trust in each other more.   _The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives_. Ned Stark’s - _their father’s_ \- wise words now rung truer than ever.  

“I know you’ve been guarding her door at night.” 

At that, Jon looked up from his hands, dumbfounded.  

“ _Gods_ , Jon. _People talk_. Seriously, it’s beyond me how that still surprises you.” 

There was no judgement in her voice, instead he heard a hint of laughter. She shook her head at him in mock despair and when her lips curled into an amused smile, Jon could not help but return it. 

_Alright, point taken, Sansa._  

“Why do people care if I spend my nights out in some cold corridor?” 

It was a ridiculous question and he knew it, but his stubborn male ego beat his brains to a reply and it was out before he could stop himself. Sansa was outright laughing at him now, an altogether unusual reaction compared to his sister’s otherwise flawless manners. 

“There’s probably _nothing_ more fascinating to people than speculating why their king is spending night after night in front of the chambers of a queen he’s rumoured to be in love with. Please tell me you do realize that, Jon!” The words came out between snorts and giggles and all Jon could do was raise his hands in defeat and grumble a half-amused, half-annoyed: “Aye, Sansa, I get it. Stop laughing.” 

“Stop being ridiculous then, hmm?” She had somewhat composed herself and was looking at him with fond irritation. 

“I’ll try.”

“Start by telling me why you’re doing it. Apart from the obvious reason that you’re in love with her. I’d accept that as an explanation if you were spending all those nights inside her chambers … .” 

“Who said I was in love with her?” 

_Oh gods, what kind of fool are you?_

“I thought we agreed you were going to stop being ridiculous,” Sansa chided, finally giving him the eye roll she had been suppressing. He deserved it. 

“Aye. We did. Sorry.” He could not stop the sheepish grin that had appeared on his face. It was clear at this point that no matter how uncomfortable the situation was for him, the only way out was through. He took a deep breath and rubbed his tired eyes with the heels of his palms. 

_Time to face the music._

“Daenerys and I … we got involved with each other while I was away.” 

“I know that Jon, I have eyes.”  

“Alright, alright,” he huffed, “how about you give me a break. I’m really trying here.”  

Sansa nodded, silently mouthing an apology and leaning back in her chair, a gesture conveying her willingness to listen. 

Jon continued, eyes fixed on the glowing embers in the hearth, his voice as firm as he could manage: “You’re right, I’m in love with her. Probably fell for her the moment I saw her for the first time. Can’t explain it. All I really know is that I’ve never felt anything so powerful in my life. Took me a while to realize she felt it, too.” 

At that, Sansa gave a short chuckle but quickly fell silent again as Jon shot her an irritated glance. 

"I fought it. We both did. But it felt pointless and I … well, I gave up. There was no way I could’ve stayed away from her. It was like … gods … like the pull of gravity or something.” He shook his head. His words could never do justice to what he felt for Daenerys, that was out of the question. “I love her.  She’s … she’s the reason I’m still here. She’s better than all of us. She’s  _hope_ , Sansa.” He raised his eyes to look at his sister. “She’s my hope.” 

He was surprised when he saw the tears that had gathered in Sansa's eyes. She drew in a long breath, the hint of a smile gracing her pretty face. 

“I understand, Jon. I mean, I knew that there was something going on between you and her … well, to be fair, Arya knew before I did. But I suppose it was rather obvious from the moment you arrived.” She paused for a moment and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “Sorry about this. I’ve just become so inured to all the war talk and fighting and people dying… .”

Jon nodded. She was right. They had never talked like this. There had never been time. Or maybe they just never allowed themselves to make time for it. In all honesty, he could not even remember the last time they had spoken about anything personal and unrelated to the impending battle. 

“You still haven’t answered my question though.” The way Sansa pointed this out was casual, but the resolve in her voice told him he did not have a choice but to tell her the truth. “You say you love her, but you’ve barely spoken to her since your return. I honestly don’t see how that makes any sense at all.” 

With another deep sigh he rose from his chair and walked over to a small table that held a few cups and a jug of wine. Pouring the drinks, with his back to his sister, he began: “There was an attack. An attempted attack. Someone tried to kill Daenerys in her sleep. It was the night Bran and Sam told us about my parents. She doesn’t know. We caught the assassin before he made it into her bedchamber. But it was close. Pure luck that I was there.” He could still feel the ice cold fear clutching at his heart at the mere memory of that night. He had come so close - _too close_ \- to losing her then. “I killed him. Jorah is the only other person who knows. We thought keeping the attack a secret would give both sides a chance to overcome their animosities. We didn’t want to stir up any more anger and hate.” He turned around, now facing Sansa again. “It was completely stupid.” 

Two glasses in hand he crossed the room, passing one to Sansa before retaking his seat by the desk. 

 “Yes, it was.”

Her voice was serious, but the expression on her face still soft, as if she was unsure whether to scold or comfort him. 

“You should have questioned the attacker. We should have made sure that the ones responsible for the crime were brought to justice. It would have been important to show our people that we don’t condone or would ever pardon such an act.” The sternness had returned to her eyes and she added: “You should have told me, Jon. I had a right to know.” 

He nodded at her. 

“I know. If it’s any consolation, I really did believe I was doing the right thing.”

“Of course you did. And that’s exactly why you should have told me. Because then I could have told you that you were being stupid.” 

“It’s never too late for that.” 

He lifted his glass to toast her, a crooked grin spreading over his face. 

“It’s not, not with you anyways,” Sansa replied smugly, raising her eyebrows at him. “As a matter of fact, I should probably have a go at you for sailing the woman you love into hostile waters just to abandon her in the most unceremonious way possible upon arrival.” After taking a sip of wine herself she finished: “You still haven’t explained any of that.” 

“Explained any of what?” 

At Sansa’s words the chamber door had been opened and somebody had stepped inside. 

“When did the concept of knocking on doors before entering go out of fashion around here?,” Jon grumbled, nodding at the chair next to Sansa’s. “Sit, Arya. I’d rather get this over with in one sitting.” 

His youngest sister did as told, shedding her wet cloak before taking her seat. Looking at Arya’s mussed hair with a frown, Sansa inquired:” Where have you been? And why are you soaking wet from head to toe? _Gods_ , Arya! You know how dangerous the cold can be!” 

Arya merely snickerd at her sister’s exasperated tone and bend over to take off her boots, throwing them in front of the fire to dry. 

“I got to ride a dragon.” 

The surprised “WHAT?” that echoed around the room came from Jon and Sansa in unison. 

Arya, very much enjoying her siblings looks of disbelief, gave an amused snort in an attempt to appear unfazed, but the excitement in her voice betrayed her as she announced: “The Queen took me on a ride on Drogon.”  

“Just now?”, Sansa questioned, still frowning. 

“Yes just now! We just got back.” 

“Well, I suppose it makes sense that the Queen would do something like that, since … ,” Sansa shot a sideways glance at her brother, “other people refuse to keep her company for no good reason whatsoever.” 

Jon let out a huff. He was outnumbered. Briefly, he considered his chances of backing out of the conversation. He had a feeling that however this might go, it would most likely not help him keep up his resistance to Daenerys. But what concerned him even more was the thought that in truth, that was exactly what he wanted. 

“Yeah, Jon, please do enlighten us. And before you do, I just want to say I hope there’s more to it than the mere fact that you’re an idiot.” 

“Arya!”  

Sansa clicked her tongue in disapproval. 

“What? I’m right.” 

“Alright! Alright! Shut up, both of you!” 

He had raised his voice on the last words, something he hardly ever did, and it quieted his quarrelling sisters immediately. 

“Listen to me. And for once, try to let me finish.” He cleared his throat audibly before he continued: "You’re both right. I probably am an idiot. Believe it or not, you’re not the first to tell me that.”

“Oh, I have no trouble believ—“ Arya’s sentence was cut short by a sharp slap on her wrist. She rolled her eyes at her sister but stayed quiet.  

Jon ignored them and continued: “After Daenerys announced that she would indeed follow us north I knew that we would have to deal with hostility and mistrust upon arrival here. What I really didn’t expect was … this.” He waved his hand in an indistinct gesture. “Our people, the Lords, they are threatened by her to the point that they want her dead. And they hate me for bringing her here. It might sound absurd to you, but I’m just trying to keep her safe. How do you think those greedy scumbags would react to the news of me being in love with a _Targaryen_? They wish her dead now, but they would _definitely_ kill her then. Not a chance I am willing to take.” 

After a few moments of heavy silence Sansa noted: “But you’re part Targaryen yourself.”

Jon exhaled deeply. “Doesn’t exactly make things any easier.”  

“So you’re saying the fact that you two are related is the real problem here?” 

The hint of amusement in Arya’s voice was hard to miss. 

“No. It’s not. Honestly, I thought it would be. But it’s not. It doesn’t change how I feel about her. It should, probably, but it doesn’t. I tried to make myself care … didn’t work.” 

“You do realize she doesn’t know that, right?” There was something strangely accusatory in the way Sansa was looking at him now. 

“I do. Hate me for it all you want. But if letting her believe I changed my mind about her helps keeping her safe, then so be it.”

"Oh, godsdamnit Jon! That’s such bullshit!” 

Annoyance glimmered in Arya’s dark eyes and even Sansa seemed to agree, as she let her sister’s cursing pass without comment. When she spoke, less crude but sounding equally unconvinced by his reasoning, a hint of that earlier softness had returned to her eyes. 

“Alright, I see where you’re coming from. But think about this: what good has your staying away from her done so far? Is she hated any less? Do any of the lords trust her now? Are we any closer to unifying our people?” 

Jon knew that from this - _their, Daenerys’s_ \- perspective, his arguments were rather feeble at this point.  

“It’s not about that, Sansa, it’s much more—“

“No, Jon. No, it’s not. And the answer to all these questions is also no. They _still_ hate her and they _still_ want her dead. We _still_ don’t have a strategy and our people and armies are _still_ deeply divided. I’m sorry if this is hard for you to hear but all you’ve accomplished with this behavior is making her miserable. Her and yourself. She looks like she’s lost 10 pounds in the two weeks that she’s been here and you haven’t slept in gods know how long.” She paused and waited until he raised his eyes to meet hers. “This is wrong. You have to see that! With all the shit that we’re in, walking dead men and a queen gone mad in the South, love is the last thing you should be throwing away right now.” 

And just like that, Sansa had wiped out the one thing he had put all his belief in, this logic he had carefully constructed in his head that his sacrifice was honorable, that he was doing the right thing.  

The relief that he suddenly felt caught him by surprise. But it was mixed with something else, something much more uncomfortable. He was embarrassed. Not just at his own stupidity and short-sighted actions, but much more at his own fear. He realized now that at heart he had known the truth all along and what had kept him clinging so desperately to the idea of protecting her was his own fear of what she meant to him. The magnitude of his feelings for this woman scared him to the core and instead of facing it he had foolishly run away. 

“Jon?” 

“Hmm?” He realized he still had not said a word and his sisters were looking at him questioningly. 

“You look like Sansa just gave you a stroke.” 

Admitting his error to himself was one thing, but his sisters would not - and rightly so - let him get away without some sort of acknowledgement of guilt. 

_Time to swallow your pride and thank them for setting your mindless ass straight._

“Aren’t you going to say anything?” Patience had never been Arya’s strong suit.  

He sucked in some much needed oxygen and nodded slowly. 

“Well, … I guess you have a point there.” 

“Who does?” 

 As suspected, he was not going to be let off the hook so easily. 

“Sansa does. You do. Daenerys does. _Fuck_! You all do. I don’t. Ever, apparently.”

“Rarely!” 

Hearing Arya’s laughter, he knew she had gotten what she wanted. He got up from his chair and walked over to Sansa, taking her hand and pulling her out of her seat.  

“What now?” 

The honest confusion on his sister’s face made him smile. He pulled her into his arms and hugged her tightly.  

“Thank you. I needed that.” 

He could feel her breathy laugh against his neck. 

“It seems you really did.” And when he let her go and their eyes met she added: “You know, it’s not the worst thing in the world to take counsel from your sisters every once in a while. Next time you might want to consider speaking to us _before_ you’ve made a mess of everything.” 

He could not think of a smart answer so he simply grimaced in agreement and turned to Arya, fully expecting some sort of cheeky final remark. But his sister, still grinning, only winked at him and said: “Go, Jon! You’ve kept her waiting long enough, don’t you think?” And when he was already halfway out the door she called after him: “I know you’ve given her at least one good reason to forgive you eventually.” He did not see the puzzled look on Sansa’s face or the innocent shrug Arya gave in response. In that moment, he did not care. 

He had never deserved her, now less than ever before. But that, too, did not matter. Fate had given him a chance once, and as he sprinted down the hallway towards the guest wing he swore to himself - _and by the old gods, the new, and on everything he held dear_ \- that if, by some miracle, he was to be given a second chance, he would not screw it up again. 

 


	9. Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello there,
> 
> apologies for the longer wait. We got some pretty brutal heat last week so that I could only be somewhat productive at night. Also, this chapter proved to be challenging on more than one level. It was definitely a venture into uncharted waters for me to some extent and I guess it's safe to say I'm a bit nervous to see what you guys think. But also excited ;-) ... so it's not all bad. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy and as always, constructive criticism is most welcome!

_Truthfully this time._

The silence that followed his words was so thick she felt like she might choke on it. There was a strange tingling sensation in her hands and feet and a sudden dizziness that forced her to tighten her grip on the edges of the tub to keep herself upright. 

_I’m hallucinating. This is madness. I’ve lost my mind._

His eyes were still locked with hers, the intensity of his stare almost unbearable. She could feel the pulse of her frantic heartbeat reverberate throughout her entire body. The content fatigue from mere moments ago was gone. The warm water and heavy smell of the fragranced bath oils in the damp air was no longer soothing but unpleasantly suffocating. It was a while before she found her voice again.  

“What?”, one word, sounding weak and hoarse, was all she managed to get out. 

The man who now came to kneel beside her was the old Jon, _her_ Jon, the Jon she had missed so desperately she had felt physical pain. She could see it in his face, in the small crease between his eyebrows that spoke of affection rather than concern, and in the way his lips were slightly curved upwards into the softest of smiles. But most of all, she could see it in his eyes, _those eyes_  she remembered so vividly, that were silently telling her everything he often struggled to express with words. She had become addicted to what had let her see in them and when he had withdrawn himself from her it had not felt like anything she was able to survive. Not once, but certainly not twice. Every fiber of her body and soul craved, _ached_ , for him, for this look in his eyes, and it took every last ounce of strength in her to tear herself away. She knew she had to, if she wanted to survive. Unable to avert her eyes, she closed them instead. 

_I can’t do this again. He has to stop this before it’s too late. I have to make him._  

But he would not let her. As if sensing the distance she was trying to put between them, he reached out and took her hand in his, gently prying her fingers away from their firm grip on the bathtub’s edge, derailing her feeble attempt to escape him. 

_No._

“Dany.” 

_Oh, that voice._ She could feel her heart give a painful lurch. _That voice_. It held the promise of everything she longed for. It was home, and light, and love. It sounded like it was made for her, and for her alone. And perhaps it was. She had never heard Jon use it in front of anyone else. 

_No._

“Dany. Look at me, Love. Please look at me.” 

_I can’t. Don't you understand? If I do, I’m lost._  

Still contemplating if she was be able to at least shake her head at him, she felt his hand leave hers. And then, before she could begin to worry about what that meant, his fingers were on her cheeks, his palms gently cupping each side of her face. She tried to swallow back the rising lump of emotion in her throat and failed. Tears were prickling behind her closed eyelids, threatening to spill the moment she would open them.

_No._   

“Please.” 

_No no no._

“I love you.” 

It was expected and unexpected at the same time. She knew it had once been true. And for a moment she had thought she had seen it again in his eyes this morning. But how could she be sure, after what he had done to her? Hearing the words, knowing they came from him, she felt a jolt like an electric shock ripple through her body and she opened her eyes. He was right there, right in front of her, so real it was painful. His hands were still on her face, caressing, softly wiping away the falling tears.  

“That’s my answer. That’s the reason I don’t want you to go. I love you. And the thought of losing you scares me more than anything else in the world.” 

The tears were blurring her vision and she was acutely aware of her nakedness now, suddenly feeling too exposed to him, to his presence and his words. She was trapped in the tub that left little room for her to retreat, and all she could do was move herself a few inches away from him and pull her legs up to her chest, arms wrapping tightly around her knees. 

“That fear,” he continued, his eyes still focused on hers, holding onto her with his gaze instead of his hands for now, “that fear is unlike any fear I have known before. It makes me do stupid things. _Really fucking stupid_ things.”  

She could see him swallow thickly and shake his head slowly. The sadness that now shone in his eyes tapped into an instinct deep inside her that almost made her reach out to him.  _Almost_. But then he spoke again and his voice became her singular focus once more. 

“I know I’ve hurt you, Love. I’m an idiot. A complete and utter idiot. I’ve come to see that. And I’ve been told as much several times now, particularly within the last two hours. If I could go back and undo the last weeks, I swear I would in an instant. But I can’t and I’ll regret that for as long as I live.” He paused shortly, then continued: "What I can do is apologize and beg you to forgive me. Dany, I never meant to hurt you like I know I have." 

Jon was still kneeling beside the bathtub. Everything about him in that moment, everything she knew about him seemed to resonate with what he was saying. He was really there, here in this room, on his knees in front of her, asking for her forgiveness. Night after night she had lain awake, first waiting, later hoping, _desperately wishing_ for him to come to her. He never had. But here he was now, within arm’s reach, and her aching heart wanted nothing more but to believe him, forgive him, trust him _._   

_But how? How?!_

Her mind was screaming at her, violently trying to drown out the voice of her broken heart. She was yearning for Jon’s love and warmth, for the safety and contentment she had only ever felt in his arms, and for that feeling of wholeness that had overcome her every time she had looked at him sleeping next to her, knowing of his inherent goodness that made him much too precious for the cruel world surrounding them. Yet, that goodness had not kept him from leaving her. He had shut her out completely, abandoned her in a place he had brought her to. A place that he called home. A place where she was considered the intruder, the foreign invader, the _threat_. She had trusted him with everything she had, bared her soul to him. And yes,  _yes_ , she had surrendered her heart willingly, not thinking twice, not doubting him for a second. Her heart should have been save in his hands. That is what he promised. A promise he had not kept. 

“I don’t understand.” It was the first coherent sentence her reeling mind was able to form and she croaked it out before she could change her mind about it. She forced herself to hold his gaze and when he did not respond right away, she added: “What has changed?”  

“Nothing.” His answer came swiftly, his voice adamant. “Nothing’s changed. I guess that’s exactly what I’m trying to tell you. Nothing ever changed and I’m a fool for letting you believe otherwise. I somehow had myself convinced I was keeping you safe and that it was the right thing to do.” 

_Well, you really are an idiot then, Jon Snow._

“It wasn’t.” Her voice was still brittle, but between the confusion and all the other overwhelming emotions battling in her chest, anger was beginning to get the upper hand  and had summoned back a bit of her confidence. “It wasn’t right, Jon. You never even explained. You just left. From one moment to the next the Jon that I knew was gone. We promised each other  _together_. I believed you … and you abandoned me. You were just gone.” 

There were a million other things she wanted to tell him. She wanted him to know _how much_ he had hurt her. She wanted him to explain how he had been able to do what he did if, in fact, his feelings had not changed. She wanted him to realize that his betrayal was worse than any other she had ever suffered, just because of how much she was in love with him. She would have given her life for him if need be. She would have done it in a heartbeat. 

_I still would. Even now._  

Was that wrong? Maybe. _Probably_. She was so absorbed in her own feelings, her own pain, it seemed to dominate her entire existence. Her growing awareness of her own predicament starkly conflicted with the reality of who she was, or rather: who she was supposed to be. She had allowed herself to surrender her independence to love. Yet, despite the pain and heartache, she had no regrets. But she was far from ready to admit  that to anyone but herself, and least of all to the man before her. So she stopped herself from saying more, for now, fearing that he would sense her placability behind the anger too soon. 

When she looked at him again she saw the guilt plain on his face. She had seen him like this only once before. He had just woken up after narrowly escaping death beyond the Wall, his body temperature still several degrees below normal. When he had opened his eyes they had been full of regret, silently begging her to let him share her grief. Or better, allow him to bear it all by himself. Viserion’s death had not been his fault. This, however, was. 

“You’re right.” His voice was quiet, almost cautious. “I did that. There’s not much to say in my defense and I know it. I will explain, I promise. And I swear to you, I won’t hurt you again. I will make things right, Love. I will, if you can give me another chance. I know I’m asking a lot of you. It’s not fair. But could you? Do you think you can forgive me?”

_Can I?_  

“I don’t know.” It was barely more than a whisper.  

_I want to. So much._  

But should she? What would happen to her if he suddenly decided to leave again?  

“What about your parents, Jon? What about the fact that we’re … that you’re—“

“That you’re my aunt?” His voice did not waver as he finished her sentence, and there was no resentment or bitterness in his words. When he reached out to her again she hesitated for a moment, but finally let him take her hand in his. His thumb began to trace gentle circles over her knuckles. The sensation was strangely soothing. He continued: “I truly meant what I said, Dany. It doesn’t change anything.” A frown furrowed his dark eyebrows as he paused briefly. “Let me rephrase that. It _does_ change things. A lot of things. I have no idea who I am anymore most of the time. But through all of that, there’s one thing that hasn’t changed … and that will never change. The one thing that I still know for sure about myself is that I am the man who’s madly in love with you. Timing be damned. Hells, the dead be damned! I’m in love with you and I’m sorry for wasting so much of our precious time. I’m so, _so_ sorry I’ve caused you pain, Dany. 

He was still holding her hand. It felt like a lifeline. Her mind was going around in circles, his words still ringing in her ears. She did not want to think about consequences. She did not want to be prudent. All she wanted in that moment was him. Two weeks of starvation, _14 miserable days_ of missing him, his warmth, his love, _his touch_. Having him so close, hearing his voice that seemed to mirror all those feelings he was speaking of, the need to let go and lose herself in him was overwhelming. She could not give him an answer tonight. She could not even think straight. But what she could do was soothe her pain. And his. Because he was hurting, too. She could see it in his eyes, and it was even more plain in the raw edge of forced composure his voice held. It was impossible to solve all of their problems in one night. And for the moment, that was all they had. 

_And if we both end up dead tomorrow, what does it matter anyways …_  

Rather abruptly, she yanked at his hand. He released hers immediately, a flash of hurt in his eyes. But it was only a fraction of a second before he realized she was still gripping his fingers, more tightly now, pulling his upper body over the edge of the bathtub towards her. The expression on his face changed to one of genuine incredulity, and when she closed the distance between them, pressing her lips to his, she could briefly feel his surprise in the lack of his reciprocation. But then his hands were cupping her face, drawing her closer, his lips moving against hers with hot urgency and a hint of desperation. She snaked her arms around his neck and buried her fingers in the soft curls at the back of his head. He tasted of happiness, of safety, and of hope. 

_He’s hope. He’s my hope. Our hope._  

If she could have had one wish in that moment, it would have been to stay locked to him like this forever. But in the next instant she felt his tongue trace the outline of her lips, before gently parting them to dive between, and she knew she wanted more. She wanted all of him and she would take it. 

When he finally broke their kiss, it was purely for lack of oxygen. Her breathing heavy and in unison with his, their faces only inches apart, their eyes met and she saw the hunger in his deep black ones that told her they were past the point of no return in any case. 

But he was Jon, sweet, honorable, selfless Jon, so it did not surprise her when he asked, his voice nothing more than a low grumble: “Are you sure, Love? You need to stop me now or else—“

“I want you to make me forget.”  

The words were out before she could think on them twice, still a whisper, but a determined one. A hot prickling sensation had begun to spread all over her body and she felt the familiar intense ache between her legs that could only be eased in one way. Upon seeing the hint of doubt still on his face, she added: “I can’t think beyond tonight right now. And tonight, I need you.” 

He nodded. And then his lips were on hers again, his movements even more insistent than before. It seemed he had gotten all the reassurance he needed. Or maybe he had simply reached the limit of his self-control. Without breaking their kiss, Jon slid one arm around her bare back and the other underneath her knees, lifting her out of the water. Dany sighed into his mouth at the feel of his muscular arms around her. Water was dripping from her wet hair onto the floor and she vaguely registered her wet skin soaking his tunic. But it did not matter. He would not wear it much longer. 

When they reached the edge of her bed, Jon bent over to place her onto the mattress and she pulled him with her, clinging to him, not willing to let him go. 

He placed his arms on either side of her, slightly raising himself as to not crush her petite body under his full weight. But even that small distance between them was too much and Dany wrapped her arms around his torso, holding on to him tightly, willing him to abandon his caution. For a moment she felt him yield. But then he took charge again and his lips left hers, traveling along her jaw to her ear, then down along her neck and collarbone until his mouth was at her breast. A whimper escaped her lips as he kissed and caressed the sensitive skin there. The sensation had never been this intense before and she felt another rush of heat go straight to her core. His lips continued their journey south and when he briefly stopped at her navel and raised his eyes to hers, she thought she saw a glimmer of … _something_ … in them.  

_Can he tell?_

But then his mouth was on her again, and it pushed every other thought out of her mind. Lower and lower he moved, until finally, _oh_ , she could feel him _there_ , kissing her _there_. At the first touch of his lips against her tender flesh her back arched off the bed, her body moving of its own accord. Her knees were bent now, her things clamping around his shoulders. A wail echoed through the room and it was several moments before she realized it had come from herself. 

No matter what would happen tomorrow, no matter what awaited them out there, _this_ was right. It had to be. It felt too good not to be. 

Soon, _too soon_ , she could feel a familiar pulsing sensation throughout her body, heralding the impending peaking of her pleasure. But she was not ready, not yet, not like this. Before the feeling could overwhelm her completely she clasped his arm, pulling him up towards her. 

“Jon.”

It was a whine, a desperate, begging whine her voice had taken on. But it did not matter. She needed more. She needed all of him, _feel_ all of him. And when he slid his body up hers, his hands never leaving her skin, she could feel the evidence of his own desire brushing against her thigh. 

“What do you need, Love?”  

It was not a tease. Despite the blatant desire that strained his voice, his eyes were full of love and care. ‘Whatever it is, I will give it to you’ they seemed to say. 

“You.” 

She moved her hands to his chest and began unbuttoning his tunic, desperate to rid him of the layers of clothing that concealed his skin from her touch.  

“I need you.”

At that, Jon pushed himself off her, sitting on his knees between her legs as he pulled the garment over his head and tossed it aside. Keeping his eyes locked on hers, he quickly shed his breeches and then, at last, his smallclothes. Dany could not hold back the content sigh that escaped her when he lowered his gloriously naked body back onto hers, and met her lips with his again.

_Finally._

Her hands fanned out over his chest, fingers running across his muscles, nails scraping lightly over his skin as they moved down to his stomach. Her body seemed to remember every inch of him, yet something inside of her demanded her to validate those memories. When she slipped a hand between their bodies and her fingers found him, Jon gasped and broke their kiss, lifting his hips a few inches. 

“Dany …”  

She nodded at him reassuringly and began to stroke him, tantalizingly slow at first, relishing the feel of him in her hand. A deep growl came from deep within his chest, his eyes screwed shut and his arms shaking with the effort of holding himself above her. Dany brought her other hand up to touch his cheek, caressing it gently with her fingertips, willing him to open his eyes again. 

_I need to see you. All of you._

And when he did, it was devastating. It felt as though she was looking right into his soul, and what she saw was confusing and illuminating at the same time. But most of all, it was too much to bear for one person. 

_How do you do it, Jon? How do you live with all of this inside of you without losing your mind?_

She abandoned her previous task and reached around his neck with both arms, bringing his body flush against hers and taking his lips with a fervent kiss. Only when she felt his thumbs wiping at her cheeks did she realize she was crying, but unable to summon enough composure to stop. He cradled her head in his hands and began to kiss away her tears, one by one, until he found her mouth again. 

“I love you, Dany. So much.”  

His words were a mumble against her skin, but clear enough to her ears. And suddenly, as if waking up from a trance, she was reminded of the throbbing need between her thighs and his rigid length nestled against her. She began to move under him, desperate for some friction now, resparking the heat. Their kisses grew more feverish, more frenzied, and she hooked a leg around his waist, sighing into his mouth when she felt his hand on her behind, pressing her against him. Jon gave a muffled curse when his tip came in contact with her center, so ready for him. She was writhing beneath him now, clawing at his back like a starving animal.  

“Jon … I need—“ 

She managed to choke out the words but had forgotten the rest of her sentence before he cut in. 

“I know, Love. I’m right here.”  

It was a promise the held meaning beyond the present moment, but she did not have time to dwell on it then. When he filled her, everything went blank. For a second? A minute? An hour? She did not know. And then there was only him, inside her, around her, _everywhere_. Faintly, she could hear her own sobs along with his irregular grunts, their noises slightly growing louder as his movements picked up pace. Letting go of that last thread of her control, her entire body stiffened before a fog of delirious pleasure engulfed her, rendering her utterly unable to process even the smallest of thoughts. He kissed her then, greedily swallowing her cries, his hips continuously bucking against her. Barely had she recovered before she felt his muscles tense, his mouth leaving hers and he burrowed his head into her neck. His groans almost sounded pained and she brought her hands to the back of his head, gently stroking through his hair, soothing him, as he emptied himself inside her. 

She felt a sting in her heart when he - all too carefully - eased his body from her embrace. But then he was reaching for her, drawing her against his chest and she let him, too satisfied and tired to consider anything but falling asleep right there, enveloped in his warmth, safe in his arms. 

 

 


	10. Ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 10 guys! TEN! That's already 9 more than I thought I'd write when I posted One. LOL  
> THANK YOU to everyone still reading for bearing with me and for all your sweet, encouraging comments! Part of me still can't believe people are actually taking time out of their busy lives to read my writing ... let alone enjoy doing it! You guys are amazing and I'm so grateful you made me continue this story! It's been good fun so far! 
> 
> Now, I hope you enjoy Ten. It's really a bit of a transition chapter. But it's an important one! Also, we're finally picking up the pace in this story, so that's good news. :-)

When Jon woke up he found Daenerys’ bedside empty. For a moment, he was convinced his memories of the previous night had been a dream. Admittedly, compared to the nightmares that had usually woken him up from what little sleep he had gotten over the past two weeks, this dream had been wonderful and he probably had to be grateful for that. As his eyes adjusted to the light that was filtering in through the gaps in between the heavy curtains that were hung at the windows, he realized that the room he had evidently slept in was indeed not his. The bathtub he remembered finding Daenerys in still stood in front of the hearth, and when he looked over the edge of the bed he saw his discarded clothes on the floor beside it. 

_Not a dream._

He could not suppress the grin that was spreading across his face. She had allowed him into her bed. And afterwards, she had let him hold her the entire night. He had tried to stay awake for as long as possible. The feeling of her soft skin against his had been so blissful he had not wanted to miss even a second of it by falling asleep. Yet, despite his best efforts, sheer exhaustion had made him succumb to slumber eventually.  

A knock on the door interrupted Jon’s reminiscing. He grabbed his clothes from the floor, quickly pulled on his breeches and slipped the tunic over his head as he made his way over to the door. Behind it stood Missandei. 

“Good morning, Your Grace.” A knowing smile played around the corners of her mouth. “I’ve come to inform you that the scouting troop towards Karhold leaves within the hour. Breakfast is served in the Great Hall as usual but I can also have some food sent up to your room. Or … _this_ room. Whatever you'd prefer.”  

_She said scouting. Scouting. Daenerys. Fuck!_

 He had overslept for the first time in years and the timing could not have been worse. 

“Is everything all right, Your Grace?” 

The puzzled look on Missandei’s face reminded Jon that he had not yet said a single word. He hurried to explain: “No. I mean yes! Yes, everything's fine. I will see to my own breakfast. Thank you.” The young woman nodded and turned to leave when he added: “Do you happen to know where I can find the Queen? She …,” he cleared his throat, irked at his own awkwardness, “… well, it seems she left before I woke and I need to find her.” 

The smile had returned to Missandei’s face and there was a hint of mischievous amusement in her voice when she replied: “I do, indeed, Your Grace. Queen Daenerys is with her dragons. She is getting ready to leave for a patrol flight towards Deepwood Motte.”  

He uttered a hasty “Thank you” and rushed back into the room to find his boots. When he was already halfway down the corridor he heard Missandei call after him: “Your Grace! Your cloak! I have it here. You should really put it on.”  He spun around and only then noticed his fur cloak that Daenerys’ confidante was carrying over one arm. 

_There’s a reason why Daenerys treasures her so much._  

“You’re … thank you, Missandei! Just thank you.” 

They shared a brief look as Jon fastened his cloak around his shoulders and a silent understanding passed between them.

_She's on our side. Perhaps not on my side. But on our side._

And then he took off running. Missandei had bought him some time by coming to him when she had, now it was up to him make the most out of it.

 

* * *

 

 

When he reached the edge of the Wolfswood he was relieved to see both Drogon and Rhaegal still on the ground. He slowed his pace and nodded at the two Unsullied soldiers that had accompanied Daenerys into the forest and were now standing guard by the clearing where the Queen’s oversized sons had taken up residence. Jon approached unhurriedly, careful not to agitate the dragons and finally caught sight of Daenerys, standing in between their massive bodies, one hand on Drogon’s flank while the other rested somewhere on Rhaegal’s enormous ribcage. 

“Dany.” 

When she turned around, the perplexed expression on her face told him that he had interrupted her in deep thought. 

_Or conversation. However these three do that._

But in the next instant she had regained her composure, her pursed lips feigning irritation. Her eyes, however, betrayed her, visibly lighting up upon seeing him. 

“What are you doing here?” 

The forced indignation in her voice told him she had noticed her own slip-up, but was not ready to let go of her reserve towards him just yet. 

_Fair enough. I deserve it._

“That’s the second time in less than 24 hours you've asked me that question.”

A playful smile stretched across his face as he slowly began to walk towards her.

“Well, I’d say it’s a legitimate question given the fact that this is the third time in more than two weeks that you’re speaking to me voluntarily.” 

He stopped in his tracks. There was a pained grimace on his face he had futilely tried to hold back. 

_Don’t get cocky, you fool. You’re still at her mercy._

She was not going to make this easy for him. But had he ever expected that? 

_Of course not._

“Right.”

If someone handed him a knife and asked him to cut off his own hand in exchange for taking away the pain he had caused her - he would do it without hesitation. But this was his own mess and the only way to solve it was to own up to his mistakes. 

“For the foreseeable future it’s probably fair that you get to ask me whatever you want as often as you want.” 

“I suppose it is.” 

She was smirking. And the sight of it almost made his heart jump out of his chest. 

_Gods, you’re so beautiful._

“Resorting to flattery already, Jon Snow?” 

“What?” 

He had said it out loud. By now, she was standing only a few feet away from him. Had he moved? Or perhaps it had been her. Or both of them. 

"You said—" 

“Aye, Dany. I know what I said.” 

And then his lips were on hers before either of them could say anything else, his arms coming around her, pulling her tight against him. She wrapped hers around his neck, eagerly responding to his kiss in a way he had not expected. Memories of the previous night flooded his mind, glorious and bittersweet all at once.  

_She has to live. And I have to live to be with her. There’s no other way._

When he tasted salt on her lips he broke away, finding her face wet with tears. 

“Oh, Dany. No, I’m sorry, Love. Don’t cry.” 

And again, he gently wiped away the wetness on her cheeks, wondering how many times he had failed to be there and do exactly that in the past weeks. Her eyes were so full of fear and vulnerability, he felt he could not stand it, but forced himself to hold her gaze. 

_You’ve done that to her._

“I'm not doing it on purpose, you know. It just … sort of happens,” she sniffled, shaking her head slightly. 

Jon reached around her, drawing her slim figure towards him again and wrapping his arms around her protectively. 

_This is where you belong, Love. Right here, where I can keep you safe._

Her head had come to rest against his chest and he was relieved to feel her breathing settle as the tears ebbed away. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head before he moved his mouth close to her ear and whispered : “Does it help when I tell you that I love you?” 

A few seconds passed before he felt her nodding against his chest.  

“Yes,” he could still hear the trembling in her voice, “yes it does. But it might take a while before I can fully believe you again.”

“That’s fair. I will keep telling you until there’s no doubt left.” 

They stood in silence for several moments, Jon both longing and afraid to ask the next question. He took a deep breath, stalling just for a few more seconds.  

_Now is as good a time as any._  

"Does this mean you're willing to give me another chance?” 

She stiffened in his embrace and Jon loosened his arms around her, expecting her to move away from him. Yet she did not, merely lifted her chin to look at him. 

“I want to.” There was no wavering in her voice now, her gaze sharp, almost piercing. “I really do, Jon. But we need to talk and now is not the time.”  

“I’ll take that. It’s more than I deserve anyway. And I understand. We’ll talk, that’s a promise I actually intend to keep.” 

“That’s good to hear.”  

He realized that there were certain factors completely out of his control that could prevent him from keeping his word.  And yet, he would not let his mind go there now. He could not and would not let fear take command again. 

When he felt her shiver he drew the edges of his own cloak closer around her. 

“It’s going to be even colder up there, you know.” He nodded towards Drogon on the ground next to them and then raised his eyes to the overcast sky. 

“I’m going, Jon.” 

The words came out muffled. She had buried her face into his chest as if to escape the cold. Still he knew, any attempt to convince her otherwise would be pointless. 

“I know you are. And as much as I wish you wouldn’t, I’m accepting it. Not condoning it, but accepting it.”  

“You’re a smart man, Jon Snow. Or .. you know. At least  _occasionally_ you are.”  

He heard her give a small chuckle and took half a step back to look at her. The grin on her face widened into an amused smile when he replied: “Why, thank you. I do have my moments.” 

_The things I’d do just to see you smile like that every day, my love …_

“Well, let’s not forget you’re standing here surrounded by two very large, fire-breathing dragons. Disagreeing with me right now would be nothing short of suicide.” 

He snorted at her, but returned her smile wholeheartedly. After all the tears, seeing her like this, _smiling, jesting_ , it was balm for his soul.  

As if on cue, Drogon and Rhaegal began to stir, lifting their massive bodies off the ground and swinging their scaled tails. Dany’s smile faded and a frown appeared between her brows. A shadow crossed her face, and for a moment he could have sworn there was naked fear in her eyes. But, as usual, she regained her composure impressively quickly, stepping away from him and smoothing a hand over the front of her coat. 

“Right,” she said, mostly to herself, “we ought to leave now. I know. There’s much to do.” 

The urge to just snatch her up into his arms, carry her back to the castle and lock her up somewhere safe, somewhere far away from where she intended on going, was nearly irresistible now. But he pushed it down. He had to. He knew he had to if he ever wanted to earn her forgiveness. So he straightened his shoulders and when her eyes met his again, he tried his best not to show her any of his own fear. 

“Where are you going first? Missandei mentioned Deepwood Motte?”  

She nodded. “Yes, we’ll cover as much as we can in that direction today and return by nightfall. If everything goes according to plan, the territory up to Last Hearth will be next. Karhold after that, depending on how much you’ll be able to cover on the ground.” 

Jon closed the bit of distance she had put between them and took her gloved hands in his.

“Promise me you will make sure to return to the castle before sunset every day, Dany. Promise me you will be careful. I _need_ you to be careful. Stay warm and get enough rest and food. You won't survive the cold tired and starved. Promise me? Please?” 

He reached up and brushed a loose curl away from her face, then tucked it behind her ear, his palm coming to rest against her cheek. She nodded again, her eyes glassy, but no tears spilling this time.  

“Yes, I promise. But under one condition.”

“And what will that be?” 

He could not help the hint of amusement in his voice, but thankfully managed to keep a straight face. Her ever-present defiance was infuriating at times, awe-inspiring at others, but in the present moment he simply found it adorable. She gave a sigh and covered his hand with hers. 

“You must promise me that you will do the same.” She swallowed, then continued more quietly: “I need you, Jon. Alive.  _We_ … need you.” And at the slightly confused expression on his face she hastily added: “Your family. Your people. We all need you.”  

“I will be back before you know it, Love.” 

It was all he could get out. His throat had tightened at her words. He had only just gotten her back. He was not ready to say goodbye again so soon. 

_Not ever again if it was up to me._

“You will turn around when things get too unpredictable. You will stick to the plan, Jon? Right? You’re scouting, nothing more than that. No fighting unless absolutely necessary. We’re only gathering information. This is not marching into battle. Not _yet._ " 

“Aye, no fighting, just observing.” He knew it was more wishful thinking than anything else, but he agreed anyway. Ultimately, nobody really knew what was awaiting them out there _._

_No point in arguing about it now._

He leaned down to give her one last kiss, first soft, then deeper, doing his best to imprint the feeling of her sweet lips against his own on his mind. Too soon she broke away. There were tears on her face again, but she turned and walked towards Drogon and he let her. She did not want to be comforted this time. He understood. 

Once settled on the dragon’s back, she turned to look at him just briefly and he smiled up at her, even though it felt entirely wrong. In the next instant she was out of his sight, as both dragon brothers had raised themselves up on their back legs and were flapping their enormous wings above him, one after the other taking off into the air with a thunderous roar.

_Come back to me. Please come back to me._

 

* * *

 

 

When Jon entered Winterfell’s courtyard through the main gate he found it bustling with activity. Horses were being saddled and loaded with arms and supplies and instructions shouted across the square. According to the plan the council had agreed upon the previous day, eight scouting groups consisting of twenty mounted soldiers each were supposed to ride out in all directions from the castle. All commanders were instructed to turn their troops around after a fortnight at the latest, regardless of whether sightings had occurred or not. He himself was going lead the twenty men riding towards Karhold.

Part of him was thankful for the opportunity to leave the castle. Winterfell was safe, a fortress that seemed impenetrable. But he had mainly felt trapped, initially unable to convince anyone with his calls for action. The thought of their impending departure somewhat reconciled these feelings of powerlessness, yet his zest for action was tainted by the nagging worry over Daenerys’ safety. He would not be able to see to her protection and well-being himself for the foreseeable future. After the narrowly thwarted attack on her life shortly after their arrival, the idea of leaving her behind troubled him thoroughly. 

 “Snow!”

The gruff voice shouting across the courtyard unmistakably belonged to Tormund. When he turned around, he saw the ginger-bearded wildling marching towards him. His fur coat was covered with snow and he had the usual, slightly crazed look in his eyes. 

“Ey,” he was still shouting, despite standing right next to Jon now, “who’s fuckin' idea was this, heh? The King’s?” 

He laughed heartily and gave Jon an amicable slap on the back, almost making him topple over at the sudden impact. From the corner of his eye Jon saw a group of Unsullied soldiers moving towards them, their expressions wary, hands resting at the hilts of their swords. He shook his head slightly, indicating to Grey Worm’s men that there was no danger. 

“What’re you talking about?” Jon could not help but grin at Tormund’s wild demeanor. Secretly, he appreciated every conversation in which his counterpart did not treat him as anything but himself. With Tormund he never had to worry about that. 

_He’d rather cut off his own balls than call anyone ‘Your Grace’._

“Those fuckin' suicide missions. Again, Snow? Really, I thought you had enough by now. Barely made it out the last time.” 

“When was last time?”

His sister’s voice cut in before he was able to come up with a decent retort. Arya was mounted on a horse, clad in furs, needle at her hip. 

“Ha!,” Tormund snorted, “your brother never told you? Of course he didn’t. Almost died in a fro—“ 

“Unimportant right now,” Jon interrupted sharply, which, to his own surprise, effectively silenced his wildling friend. “Why are you on a horse, Arya?,” he then demanded, turning to his youngest sister. 

Arya looked like she wanted nothing more than to stick her tongue out at him but successfully stifled the urge and replied fairly politely: “Unlike you, I’m ready to leave.”  

“Except, you’re not going.”

He sounded disgustingly patronizing and he knew it, but this was too much. Worrying about Daenerys was already more than he thought he could bear. Letting Arya participate in the scouting was out of the question

“Looks like I am, actually.” 

She did not sound the least bit impressed by his objection. Jon could feel anger rising up inside him.  

_Why did they bother naming me their fucking king if no one ever listens to me anyway._  

He tried to swallow down as much of his frustration as possible before answering: “You’re not. I need you here. Sansa needs you here. You’re staying to protect our sister while I’m away.” Then, after taking a step closer towards Arya on the horse, he added: “I need you to protect Daenerys, too. Look after her while I can’t and make sure she’s safe.”  

Arya’s looked him straight in the eye without blinking, her face earnest except for the small smile tilting at the corners of her mouth. 

“She needs you the most, Jon. Trust me. And I’m going to make sure she gets you back in one piece.” 

 

* * *

 

**6 days later**

 

They were not even halfway to Karhold when they spotted them. Still from afar, yet visible through the fog and thick snow that was falling relentlessly, they could see something that looked like a head-high wall, dark against the white surrounding them, blocking their path. Gusts of ice-cold wind were stinging the exposed skin of their faces as they slowly moved forward, the horses growing noticeably more nervous the closer they got. And then Jon saw, and it almost made his stomach turn. 

In front of them was not a wall. It was a chain of bodies. Dead bodies. Or undead. An endless line of them. They were not moving but stood as if rooted to the ground, staring at them with cold, blue eyes. 

Jon heard a few of his men gasp in shock, though most of them seemed too horrified to make any noise at all. Except for Gendry and Tormund, who had both volunteered to join this particular scouting troop headed towards Karhold, none of the men had ever come face to face with the dead before. 

“For fuck's sake! What do we do, Snow? What’s going on here? Why are they doing this?"

It was Tormund’s voice bellowing from somewhere behind him. Jon turned around. Twenty terror-stricken faces were looking at him, waiting for his command.  

“Your guess is as good as mine.” 

 

 

 

 


	11. Eleven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eleven is a long one, guys! Hopefully that's good news to most of you! :-) I'm also fairly certain it comes with at least some of the things many have been waiting for. 
> 
> Enjoy and let me know what you think afterwards. Your lovely comments are my main source of motivation. <3 Especially whenever I have once again successfully convinced myself that everything I write sucks. (Not fishing for compliments here! Hating on myself is an integral part of my writing process. *sighs*) 
> 
> I'm off to bed for now.
> 
> Lots of love to all of you out there, wherever you are!

She had known something was off when she had mounted Drogon the first time they had tried to fly back to Winterfell. They had arrived at Karhold the previous day, just shortly before nightfall, coming from Last Hearth. In the beginning, she had followed the plan she had committed to meticulously, remembering her promise to Jon and also knowing herself it was safest to return to the Stark castle every night where she had her men and at least a few trusted advisors and friends waiting for her. The first days of scouting on dragonback had gone smoothly, without anything noteworthy to report. Slowly, she had felt the initial anxiety and at times almost paralyzing fear fade as she had eased into her task. There was finally a sense of purpose again, a feeling she had been missing dearly ever since arriving in the North. The gnawing guilt and worry over her unborn baby’s safety had been somewhat dispelled by the freedom and content she felt on the back of her dragon. This was her place, her destiny, this was where she belonged, and where her child - _their baby_ \- belonged. Drogon and Rhaegal would keep her and their little brother or sister safe, she knew it, she felt it, she only had to trust them. She was convinced the dragons could sense the baby’s presence inside of her. They had always been fiercely protective of their mother, an instinct that seemed to intensify with every inch that they outgrew her. 

Perhaps she should not have gone against the plan in the first place. Perhaps she had been cocky, overconfident in her ability to make her own decisions in this war that, in the very literal sense of the word, seemed larger than life. Perhaps she had been lulled into a false sense of safety by the lack of anything but snow-covered wasteland beneath her. 

_Or maybe I’m really nothing more than a naive, arrogant girl gone mad._

She had left Winterfell for Last Hearth thirteen days ago. It had been an unusually mild day. The sun had fought its way through the thick layer of clouds for a few hours and when the first ray of its warmth had touched Dany’s skin she had been ready to jump and dance for joy, it had felt so good. She had been well rested and the breakfast she had eaten and successfully kept down had felt like a triumph, warming her from within. By the time she had thought of turning around the sun had already sunk low, orange around the edges and she knew she would not make it back to Winterfell before it would disappear below the horizon. Last Hearth’s silhouette had been discernible in the distance and the decision had been settled quickly. 

She had known she was taking a risk. When they had touched ground on an empty meadow near the castle she had thought of Jon and how he would have doubtlessly run riot if he could have seen her in this moment. 

_If he was here …_  

But he had not been. She had been alone, with no golden knight to sweep her up into his arms and carry her to safety. And she had told herself she was going to be all right. She could look after herself, she always had, she did not need the knight and his arms. The part - _or parts_ \- of her that missed Jon so terribly - _her heart, their baby in her belly, and yes, the hollow ache between her thighs_  - had seemed to think otherwise, but as she was walking towards the fortress gates she had done her best to shut them out. 

With the head of House Umber, little ten-year-old Ned, currently at Winterfell along with the majority of his men, Dany had not been sure in what state she would find their family's stronghold. Before her departure, Tyrion had assured her that the people, mostly servants, who had remained at Last Hearth were aware of House Umber’s renewed pledge of allegiance to House Stark and had also been informed by raven to expect the sighting of dragons in connection with the scouting activities.  

It had not exactly been a warm welcome. She had been brought inside the castle by the guards she had encountered at the gate. Introducing herself had not been necessary, the dragons' presence outside had served its purpose. The maid who had escorted her to the study of Last Hearth’s maester, who had been left in charge, had been visibly frightened of her. Hence, Dany's attempts to engage in polite conversation with the girl had come to nothing. 

In the end, she had been given a guest chamber with two guards placed in front of her door, and served a hot meal. The maester, a rather serene, old man, extraordinarily unperturbed by her sudden appearance, had kindly promised to send word to Winterfell about her whereabouts and plans to leave for Karhold in the morning. 

It had been a short night, her sleep troubled, which had not been surprising given the circumstances. The flight to Karhold the next day had been unpleasant at best, a strong, ice-cold wind rendering her face devoid of any feeling within minutes of her departure. Despite being forced to rest twice by relentless nausea and dizziness, she had reached the Karstark’s stronghold before sunset. All had been well then, at least in comparison to her present situation. Karhold, too, had been left behind by its Lady, Alys Karstark, who had been summoned by Jon after Winterfell had been taken back from Bolton occupation. Again, the castles inhabitants had met her with wary eyes and bowed heads, hardly anyone speaking to her more than absolutely necessary. But things had changed when she had returned merely a few hours after she had taken off on Drogon’s back the following morning. They had been headed for Winterfell and the feeling of elation that had swept through her at the thought of returning there had surprised her. It had almost felt like she was going home. 

  _Jon’s home._

Both dragons had seemed unusually tense, almost agitated, when she had called them down in front of Karhold’s gates. Initially, she had not thought much of it and dismissed their edginess as a reaction to her own impatience. She had begun to worry when it had started snowing. The heavy flakes had been restricting her sight significantly and Drogon’s unease had appeared to grow with every mile they flew. Rhaegal next to them had seemed even more distraught, practically circling his brother in the air, occasionally flying ahead before swooping below him and eventually appearing next to them once more. She had urged the dragons closer to the ground, still determined to carry out her duty to scout out the ground underneath. 

She had spotted the strange formation, dark against the snow-covered ground and therefore fairly easily discernible even through the heavy snowfall, only seconds before she had heard it. _Him_. Her third. _Viserion_. And then the sky above her had been bathed in a bizarre bright blue light she had never seen before and Drogon had plunged into a dive without warning. She had heard Rhaegal give a pained roar but had not been able to locate him. It had felt as if the temperature around them had dropped even lower and snowflakes had been sticking to her eyelashes. Drogon had still been diving at an insane speed, Dany unable to get to him at all. So close to the frozen ground then she had finally been able to see properly. An infinite number of dead men had formed a line that was stretching to both sides across the land beneath them. 

_A wall? A blockade?_  

She had shouted at the dragon then, not able to communicate with him through their mental link any longer, and he had reacted at the last possible minute, finally slowing down, arching his massive body upward and vigorously beating air with his enormous wings to gain altitude again. Overcome by relief, she had relaxed for a split second before everything had turned blue again and she had remembered. _Viserion_. And then she had seen him, and the rider on his back, and the pain alone had almost knocked her off Drogon’s back. Her dead son had been chasing Rhaegal, who was trying to escape his brother’s blue flames looping and diving and, whenever possible, attacking him with his own fire.  

It had been obvious he had been trying to distract him, to coax his possessed brother away from their mother and the precious life she was carrying within. She had felt Drogon’s urge to join the fighting and almost let him. But then she had seen the spear in the Night King’s hand, aiming at Rhaegal’s chest, and she had known she had to retreat. They had been caught by surprise, completely outnumbered and it had been unlikely, if not impossible to emerge from the encounter victorious.  

They had returned to Karhold more or less unscathed, Dany disheveled and in shock. It had only been that night, resting in the chamber she had thought she had left behind for good in the morning, when she had started wondering why the Night King had let them get away so easily as soon as she had managed to turn Drogon around and called Rhaegal to follow them. It had been a spur-of-the-moment decision to fly back to Karhold. Viserion had blocked their path to the west in the direction of Winterfell, so it had seemed to be their only option. That night, she had begun wondering if the Night King’s true goal had not been to kill, the attack perhaps a tactic rather than an attempt to take them out. In the end, her suspicions had been confirmed the second time she had tried to return to Winterfell two days later. The Night King and his army - _and Viserion_ \- had closed up their path back to their base. The barricade on the ground stretched vertically over hundreds of miles between Winterfell and Karhold. At first she had still hoped to be able to cross at a different location, it was only _one_ dragon patrolling the blockade after all. So for their second attempt, she flew north for several hours before turning west. Surely enough, Viserion and his master had been waiting for them, hovering above a sheer endless chain of unmoving wights underneath. Again, Dany had retreated, too scared of losing a third child, one way or another. 

That had been ten days ago. More than a fortnight had passed since she had last seen Jon. They had repeatedly tried to send ravens to Winterfell, but a reply had yet to arrive. Dany was fairly certain that their ravens were being intercepted. Karhold had been cut off completely.

She spent the majority of her time awake in her chamber. She was constantly cold. The image of her dead son, his piercing blue eyes and decaying body haunted her dreams every night. She was afraid of going to sleep, but staying awake did not provide much respite either. The nausea seemed to have worsened and she was grateful whenever she was able to keep down some bread and water. And yet, despite her restricted diet and constant sickness, their baby seemed to do just fine. This morning, when she had gotten out of bed, dreading the cold but unable to stay under the furs any longer, the nausea coming and going in waves, she had seen it in the floor length mirror leaning against one of the walls of her bedchamber. She had lifted the woollen nightgown she had been wearing and there it was, an unmistakable swell, her body accommodating the growing baby within. She had placed a hand below her navel, trying to feel, to listen for a sign, maybe a light fluttering or a gentle prod or kick, from the life inside of her. _Not yet. But soon_. She had allowed herself a few tears then, in the privacy of her chamber and the early hour. 

_Jon, I’m carrying your baby. Right here, under the palm of my hand. Our miracle baby. Our hope._

 

* * *

 

 

Would she see him again? Was he even still alive? His troop had been headed towards Karhold, if they had stuck to that plan they must have encountered the blockade at some point. She was not entirely sure how many days it would have taken them on horseback, but the guards she had spoken to about this had confirmed that the halfway point between Karhold and Winterfell was manageable in eight to ten days when riding hard.

_I never even told you that I love you._

That was not entirely true. She had told him several times. But that was before Bran’s revelation. Before everything had gone to pieces. 

_I need you to know I still love you._

But would she get the chance? Would she get the chance to tell him of his baby? She had not wanted to tell him before they had left. It would have been nothing but cruel. Now, the thought that he might never find out made her want to scream at the utter unfairness of it all. 

  _He might never know that there was hope._

  

* * *

 

She was seated at a desk by the window penning yet another message to her people at Winterfell when a soft knock sounded at her door. Ida, a young maid with dark blonde hair and kind, brown eyes entered at her consent. She smiled at Dany when she saw the parchment and quill in her hand. Dany lifted her shoulders in a helpless shrug and returned the smile half-heartedly.  

“I know, I know. It doesn’t make much sense. But there is still a chance that ravens are only being intercepted in one direction. I can’t give up trying.”

In truth, she just really needed something to distract her, something to do, something to put her faith in. 

“I understand, Your Grace. And I admire your perseverance. As soon as you are finished I will bring the scrolls to the rookery myself.” Ida nodded down at the tray she was carrying and continued: “I have brought some hot stew and fresh bread from the kitchens. Eating will help warm you up a bit, Your Grace.” 

Ida was one of the few people Daenerys had regularly talked to over the past days she had spent at Karhold. Though she had noticed that people around the castle had warmed up to her quite a bit since her first arrival, her own feelings of unease and vulnerability of being at the mercy of strangers caring for her had remained.

“Thank you,” she caught the girl’s eye, and for a painful moment her gentle gaze reminded her of Missandei. Dany gestured towards a table in the middle of the room: “You can leave it there, I will eat after I finish this.” 

“Please do, Your Grace. I asked the cook to prepare this specifically for you. It’s my mother’s recipe. Your baby needs good food to grow healthy and strong.” 

Dany froze. Black ink dropped from her quill onto the parchment. 

“How do you … “

“Oh,” the smile on the young girl’s face widened, “it really is quite obvious, Your Grace. Even if it wasn’t for your constant sickness, it’s hard to miss by now.” 

Dany followed Ida’s eyes down to her own stomach. Yes. Yes, of course she knew. Stunned at her own naivety, she forgot to be offended by the maid’s bluntness. 

_She means well._  

“I suppose that's true,” she admitted, putting the quill down and rising from her seat, “but may I ask you to keep this to yourself? No one at Winterfell knows yet and given the current situation … you will surely understand … .” She moved over to the table where her food sat and took a tentative sniff. 

_Not that bad at all._  

“I won’t tell anyone, Your Grace. Of course not. But I fear some people might already know. As I said, it's quite— “ 

“Yes, quite obvious.” Dany sighed, a hand coming to rest on top of the curve of her belly. “I need to get back to Winterfell, Ida. Not only because of this,” she moved her hand over her stomach in a slow circle, “but because sooner or later, they will attack. I don’t know what his plan is exactly. Maybe he’s trying to starve us, make us weak, before he comes for us. Maybe he wants me here for some strange reason. All I know is that waiting it out won’t work. I need to try again. Go back and get help. Or else we’re all going to die here.” 

She knew that the maid was probably not the wisest choice of a person to confide in and seek advice from. She should sent for the maester. Or at least one of the guards with some degree of military experience. And then again, did it really matter? What awaited them out there was not a regular army. Nothing any maester had ever studied or written about. The army of the dead was a folk tale, any child’s nightmare made flesh. Ultimately, Ida was as capable - or incapable - to advise her as any other person around. 

Taking the chair Ida had pulled out for her at the table, she began to stir the soup in front of her with a silver spoon, then tasting it under the maid’s watchful eye. She smiled when Dany swallowed and immediately plunged her spoon into the stew for more. 

“Good, that’s much better, “ Ida encouraged and nodded. “Now, I understand what you are saying. Admittedly, I don’t know much about this army of dead people. I have never seen any of them. But I know you have.” She paused briefly when she saw Dany motioning for her to take the seat across from hers, looking at the queen dubiously. Dany, mouth full of hot soup, merely repeated her gesture and nodded for her the girl to continue after she had sat down. 

“Uhm, yes. Well, you have seen them, Your Grace. And so has the King.” At hearing Ida refer to Jon by his formal title, Dany’s heart gave an extra thump. It was one of her deepest desires to one day be able to call him ‘her king’ as well. Her king to rule alongside her, her husband to raise a family with, her man to love until they died of old age. But she quickly shook the thoughts from her mind and focused on Ida and the food in front of her. “The North has been through a lot over the past years. War, betrayal, destruction, so much pain and death … and people don’t know who to trust anymore. Most feel neglected and abandoned by the ones who are supposed to lead them." The girl’s eyes were downcast, as if she was trying to shut out the fact that she was in fact speaking to her Queen. But her voice held an impressive amount of determination and she went on: "Now, according to those who have seen the dead,  _thi_ s war will be a completely different from anything we've known so far. Nobody knows how to prepare or what to expect. People are scared. And we all know that fear divides. The North needs a leader that they can trust. A leader that unites the people and fights alongside them. I’ve only known you for a short while, Your Grace, but I do believe you can be that leader for us. You and the king. I know people are sceptical because of your family name. Northerners are stubborn, but they aren’t stupid. They will come around, and when they do, they will be loyal to you always.” 

Dany had put her spoon aside and was listening to Ida intently. The maid’s declaration of faith touched her deeply. For the first time since disembarking the ship in White Harbour and setting foot in the North she was speaking to a stranger that showed not even the faintest hint of hostility towards her, but instead actually believed in her, encouraged her, saw in her the queen her country needed. Dany felt her broken spirit soak in every word like a dry sponge, and a pleasant warmth spreading in her chest. She wanted to thank Ida, let her know how much her words meant to her, but she remained silent for the moment, eager to hear everything the girl had to say before interrupting her. 

“They will come to see that they need you, that we all need you. Not just your dragons,” Ida’s eyes traveled to one of the windows through which Drogon and Rhaegal were sometimes visible patrolling the skies above the castle, “but you as well. And when the time comes that they do, it’s important that you’re still alive, Your Grace. Without you and the King, we’re all lost. I understand that we’re trapped. I understand that you need to return to Winterfell. But your life is much too high of a price to pay. _You_ r life and the … ,” she did not finish the sentence, instead cleared her throat and added: “Well, it’s really not my place to say any of this. I must apologize. Please forgive my bluntness, Your Grace. I just thought with nobody else around … ,” a blush was creeping up the girl's neck now. It seemed all confidence had drained from her.  

Dany nodded, smiling at Ida who was staring at the wooden tabletop in front of her again. She reached out and grasped one of the maid’s hands with her own. Startled by the the intimate gesture, Ida lifted her her eyes and met Dany’s. 

"Thank you, Ida. It's settled then. I want to be that queen, that leader that the country needs. And I never will be if I don’t at least try to save us. I’m leaving at nightfall. Maybe we stand a chance if he … _they_ … can’t see us coming."

_What kind of a queen am I if I’m not willing to risk my life to fight them?_

 

* * *

 

Initially, it had seemed as if her plan had worked. When she caught sight of the chain of undead bodies beneath her, crossing it a hundred miles or so south of where she had encountered it the first time, there was no Viserion in the air, no Night King awaiting them. She was flying low to ensure she would not miss the spot, with only the dim moonlight illuminating the snow-covered ground below. The deadmen, unmoving in their formation, seemed unaffected by their appearance. For a moment, Dany felt overcome with sweet relief. Maybe they would indeed make it back. Maybe Jon was waiting for her at Winterfell. Maybe everything was going to be all right. 

But then she heard a cry, _his_  cry, void of all its former life and spirit, yet somehow unmistakable. At the sound, Drogon came to an abrupt halt, still airborne, and Dany was violently thrust forward by the force of the sudden maneuver. Instinctively clutching her belly with one hand, she tried to hold on to one of Drogon’s spikes with the other in a hopeless attempt to keep herself from falling off. He was diving now, his mind closed up, beyond her reach. Their rough landing jostled her entire body against Drogon’s scaled back and she lost her grip on the dragon’s spike for good. It was more sliding than actually falling, but there was a horrible anticipation of the pain and what else might happen once she hit the ground that squeezed the air from her lungs. In the end, it was much softer than expected, the snow cushioning her fall considerably. She landed on her feet, then toppled over, arms outstretched to brace her fall and shield her stomach. Next to her, Drogon was thrashing around wildly in the snow, swirling it up around him. He gave a vicious snarl at something or someone Dany could not see before pushing off the ground. She felt her heart sink. Alone on the ground, unable to get through to her son and call him down again, she was surely lost. The wights were not in sight, but they could not be very far. She got up slowly, gingerly putting weight on her left leg. She had twisted her ankle but realized with relief that she could walk. Yet inspecting her surroundings did not give much indication as to how best to proceed. An endless white wasteland seemed to surround her, mostly flat and empty except for a few snow covered fir trees. Above, she could hear her sons, all three of them, screeching and shrieking savagely. The snowfall was too thick and the clouds hung too low, reducing visibility to a few feet, but the violent sounds that reached her ears made her stomach lurch painfully. They were not just fighting _him_. They were fighting their brother, too.

_It’s not really Viserion up there. He is dead. Viserion is dead._

Regardless of how many times she repeated the mantra in her head, it did not do much to console her. And then, without warning, she found herself face forward in the snow, a sharp pain surging through her left leg, quickly traveling through her entire body, paralyzing her for several moments. Something began clawing at her arm. Once she had regained some control over her limbs, she tried to roll over onto her side. And then, several things happened in such quick succession that afterwards, there was no way of telling in which precise order they had actually occurred. From one instant to the next the thing that had been tearing at her arm was gone. A loud howl echoed through the great emptiness around her. The ground beneath her vibrated, but no footsteps were audible. Someone - or something  - was screaming right next to her, a heartless, inhuman sound. There was a deep growl and then … silence. She did not dare to move. Whatever had just - most likely unintentionally - saved her was definitely by far bigger than her and doubtlessly about to attack her next. Yet nothing happened. She could feel the snow soaking through the side of her coat that was still pressed to the frozen ground. When something nudged her back, her heart gave a harsh thump. Next, she felt something warm and wet at her ear and at the side of her face. She closed her eyes briefly and when she opened them again, a pair of bright red ones was staring down at her. A silent scream had wedged in her throat. For a few devastating seconds she was convinced that she was about to die. And then it hit her. The white fur. The enormous body. The telltale eyes. 

_Ghost._

Jon’s Ghost. She had never seen him before, only heard _of_ him. Now he had saved her life.

_Two lives. Hopefully._

Under Ghost’s watchful eye, Dany slowly turned onto her back. The pain in her left leg was excruciating, now that the adrenaline was wearing off verging on unbearable. But all that mattered was her midsection. She ran her hands over her belly, prodding gently. No pain. She knew there was no absolute certainty yet, but it was a good sign. Ghost took a step closer to her and she turned her head to him, watching him as he lowered his snout to her shoulder, sniffing her carefully. His big black nose moved along her arm and down to her hands still folded over her belly, nuzzling the swell there. The quiet whine that came from his chest sounded like a greeting.  

_He knows, too._

  

* * *

 

When they touched ground outside the gates of Winterfell, it was all she could do to keep herself upright and her eyes open. Exhaustion had taken hold of her entire body, numbing even the throbbing pain in her leg. She had tried to staunch the blood flow with a makeshift tourniquet she had made out of piece of cloth ripped from her tunic. It had taken a good while for Drogon and Rhaegal to reappear. She had been helpless, trying to get through to them but failing and ultimately giving up. Unable to know or do anything about what was happened above in the air, she had huddled close to Ghost, feeling somewhat safe in his presence and tried not to look too closely at the deep gash above her left knee that was continuously leaking blood. She had been stabbed, she was fairly certain, but could not tell with what. It did not really matter. 

Both dragons were injured as well. It was the first thing she had noticed when they finally landed close to where she was half sitting, half lying on the ground, her upper body rested against Ghost’s furry side. The enormous relief she had felt at seeing both her sons alive had made her dizzy for a moment. But then she had seen the wound at Rhaegal’s neck and Drogon’s battered wing and worry had pushed away everything else. Luckily, Drogon had still been able to fly. Heavily leaning on Ghost she had managed to crawl towards him and he had crouched down as much as possible, lowering his long neck to the ground as if sensing that his injured mother needed more help than usually. They had still been shutting her out. She did not know why exactly, but strongly suspected they were trying to protect her by keeping whatever had happened with Viserion and the Night King from her. So when she had finally managed to pull herself onto Drogon’s back, she had not pressed them further, instead had kept her mind open to them and had let them find their way back home. 

_Home._

It was his voice more than the sight of Winterfell’s grey stone walls that brought the thought to the forefront of her mind. She knew there was a chance that she was hallucinating. She had lost a substantial amount of blood. But then she heard him again and chose to believe he was actually there. 

“Daenerys!” 

There was fear in his voice. And when she finally found his face amongst the many that were running towards her, she saw it there, too. 

_I was scared, too, Jon. I was scared I might never see you again. But I’m not anymore. You’re here._

Drained of every last bit of strength, she felt her body slowly sink forward. And then she was in his arms, enveloped in his warmth and his scent and she closed her eyes. There was no reason to fight it any longer. She was safe. 

 A smile flickered over her face. 

“I love you, too.”

A whisper. And then, one last glimpse at him through drooping eyelids before everything went black.  

 

* * *

 

 

The first thing Daenerys noticed when she woke was the warmth surrounding her. It was not an uncomfortable feeling at all, but a rather peculiar one after so many days of not being able to get rid of the chill that had settled deep in her bones. She shifted her head on the pillow and spotted Missandei, standing with her back to her, tending to the fire in the hearth. As if sensing the eyes on her Missandei turned, a bright smile spreading across her face at seeing Daenerys awake. 

Her voice was hoarse, unused for so long, but she did not have to say much. 

“Jon?”

Missandei understood. “Yes, he is tending to the dragons right now.” Her voice was tinged with respect, maybe a hint of awe. “He was here after the maester had finished and just left maybe half an hour ago. I will send for him immediately.” 

  

* * *

 

When he knocked, Missandei opened the door for him and quietly excused herself before closing the door behind her. 

For a moment he just stood there, in the middle of the room, looking at her. She could see a hint of his lopsided smile on his face as he shook his head ever so slightly. And then, before she could even think about complaining, he was right next to her, grasping her hand in one of his, the other gently caressing her cheek and temple. 

“I was beginning to think perhaps you changed your mind and flew the dragons back to Essos. Away from the cold and all the other unpleasantries around here  …” 

He was still smiling, and she was pleasantly surprised by his humor despite the dour circumstances and her current mangled state. 

“I would never.” She attempted to smile as well. Having him so close, _so alive_ , right next to her … it was not too difficult. “You see, I took something of yours with me. I'm many things, but I’m not a thief.”  

He looked so utterly confused, it made her smile all the more. 

_He thinks I’ve hit my head and talking nonsense now._   

With her free hand she pulled the furs that covered her down to her thighs and lifted the linen nightgown she was wearing, exposing her belly. Tears begun to burn in her eyes but she he held them back. She did not want to cry now. She wanted to see him.

Gently, she took his hand that was still holding hers and guided it to the soft swell of her belly. Feeling his hand there, on her bare skin, warm and steady, made her breath hitch in the back of her throat. It was a moment before she could speak.

“That’s your baby in there, Jon Snow.” 


	12. Twelve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello and welcome back to everyone still following!  
> It's Jon's turn again. And I think I like this one. The last bit is the best if you ask me. ;-)  
> I'm already working on Thirteen so I'm hoping the wait between chapters won't be too long.
> 
> For now, enjoy Twelve!

They covered the distance back to Winterfell in a little over four days, instead of the six it had taken them on their way to Karhold. Before they had turned around, Jon had insisted on investigating the bizarre spectacle in front of them more closely. He had wanted, _needed_ , to gather as much information as possible. It was likely their only chance. The wights had remained unmoving, as if frozen to the ground in their meticulous alignment. They had ridden along the barricade for an hour in each direction. Nothing had changed. No movement, no sounds, no attacks. It had remained questionable if the dead had even taken notice of their presence. He had spent the entire duration of their journey back to his family home trying to make sense of what they had seen. So used to sleep deprivation at this point, Jon had allowed his troop to only rest as much as absolutely necessary. Now that they knew their enemy's current location, there was no time to waste. Much needed to be discussed at home, to be decided and planned and organized. 

Upon their arrival at Winterfell however, other news had taken priority. Tyrion had informed him that Daenerys had last been seen three days after his departure, when she had left at dawn for a scouting flight heading north. A raven had arrived from Last Hearth two days later, notifying them that the Queen had sought refuge at the Umber stronghold for the night and was planning on leaving in the direction of Karhold the following morning. At that, Jon had already been halfway out the door again. Nobody had seen Daenerys or the dragons in a week. He had to go after her. He was furious no one had thought to do so earlier. Several people had yelled after him, but he had ignored them all. Only when he had already reached the stables, Arya had caught up to him 

“You’re not going, Jon. It’s absolutely idiotic and you know it.” 

He had protested initially, grumbling and grouching, ranting on and on about how it was an utter atrocity that nobody around had been sensible enough to do something, to take responsibility and go out and look for her. But in the end, he had relented. At least for the time being. As he had later announced in front of the small council, he had no intention of waiting around indefinitely. If Daenerys did not return within a week, he would march her armies to Karhold. Nobody had dared to contradict him. If there had been any doubts left among the people present that Jon Snow was in love with the Queen, he had surely wiped them from their minds once and for all. 

 

* * *

 

Five days went by without any news. They had sent ravens to Karhold twice a day, all of them had remained unanswered. Last Hearth had replied promptly, informing them that neither Daenerys nor her dragons had been seen since their departure over a week ago. At that point it had become obvious that Karhold had been cut off. This discovery, however, had done very little to calm Jon’s nerves or ease his fears. If anything, it had made him even more tense and irritable, once more forced into inaction. 

On the evening of the fifth day of his ultimatum, he was seated at one of the long tables in Winterfell’s Great Hall. His sisters had convinced him to stay put long enough to have a proper meal together. Since his return he had spent most of his time outside the castle walls where the Dothraki had set up camp. Both Davos and Tyrion had tried to question him about what exactly he was doing and why he only ever came inside when his fingers were already turning blue and looked ready to fall off. But he had shrugged them off. He had come to appreciate the company he found amongst the Khalasar’s men. Aside from the obvious cultural differences and a very persistent language barrier, Jon had realized that they seemed to have more in common than he had initially thought possible. The Dothraki had no love or care for politics and diplomacy, something he could indeed very much relate to. Their lives seemed far less complicated, their customs and traditions quite easy to navigate compared to the tangled web of deceit and schemes that was the ruling nobility of his own country. 

In full truth though, he just needed to be under the open sky. He needed to be where he would be able to see and be the first to know when she came back. He had promised not to do anything impulsive and ride out on his own and he was determined to keep that promise for as long as he had to. 

_Two more days._

The thought was almost a relief. Even though he knew that with every day that passed the chances that something had happened to Daenerys were increasing, he wished he could speed up time. Doing something, anything, even if it meant spending every waking hour atop his horse in the freezing cold and living off whatever they were able to scavenge and kill in the forest, was better than _this._

“I don’t want to jinx it, but this is actually tastes really good. You know … like real food."

For the first time since taking his seat Jon raised his head. Arya was sitting opposite of him, hunched over an impressive amount of potatoes and red meat piled on the plate in front of her. There was gravy smeared all around her mouth, and she had abandoned her knife, instead shovelling the food onto her fork with her fingers. 

“What do you mean you don’t want to jinx it?” Sansa’s voice came from right beside him. She had carefully set down her cutlery at the edge of her plate, and was staring at her younger sister with an indignant frown. "When has the food ever not been good?” 

Arya gave an amused snort, which, as she knew full well, was a quick and efficient way to irritate her older sister even more. Jon turned his head to his right where Sansa sat and surely, as if on cue, her lips had thinned into a straight line, her jaw clenched.

“Oh come on!”, came from Arya across the table. She was still chewing, now purposely loud and open-mouthed, the sight of it not exactly intended to appease Sansa. “Most days I can’t even tell for sure _what_ it is that we’re eating.” 

At that, Jon felt the corners of his mouth twitch. When he had returned to Winterfell after his long absence, Sansa had warned him that Arya was not the same girl she used to be. Of course he had expected as much. Years had passed since they had last seen each other. Still, the solemn expression on Sansa’s face had worried him. He really had had no idea what exactly Arya had seen and went through during the time they had been separated. Having her on the scouting trip with him and seeing how she had handled herself amongst the men and in the face of what they had seen out there, it had forced him to admit that she was no longer the little sister he could call the shots for. He had been impressed. And worried all the same. _This_ Arya, the girl that still loved nothing more than to rile up her older sister by being as charmingly obnoxious as humanly possible, was a much less troubling sight.  

“Well, you don’t exactly look like you’ve been starving lately,” Sansa shot back. “So it can’t bother you too much.” 

A half-stiffled chuckle sounded from a few seats down the table and when Jon leaned forward he saw Gendry struggling to swallow a mouthful of ale. 

“Hey! What’s that supposed to mean?” Arya was still grinning, hands fisted on her hips in mock irritation. 

At first, Jon tried to bite back a retort, but ultimately failed: “It means that you’re getting a bit chubby. That’s all.”  

“Oh, so that’s when you decide to break your silence? To call me fat? Why, thank you brother dearest! Thank you ever so much.” She grimaced at him, then pointedly stuck her fork into the meat loaf on her plate again, sawing off a particularly large chunk with her knife. He flashed her one of his rare smiles and immediately noticed the relief in her eyes. 

_You did it, girl. You made me laugh. I know I’ve been a sulky jerk. Point taken._

“To be fair though … ,” Sansa was smirking now, too, “you _were_ kind of bony when you got here.”

“ _Bony_?” Arya repeated, scoffing. “I wasn’t bony! I was … slender. Sleek and slender. Just as I am now.”  

A piece of potato fell from her mouth and everyone started laughing, including Gendry down the table and the people seated around them. 

“What’s so funny over here?” 

Jon felt a big hand grasp and squeeze his shoulder tightly and knew even before hearing the characteristic rumbling voice that it was Tormund standing behind him. Before anyone could begin to formulate an answer though, the one asking had already focused his attention on something - or rather _somebody_ \- else at the adjoining table.  

“Oh gods, poor Brienne.” Sansa sighed, rolling her eyes and nodding at Tormund who was now marching over to where her sworn sword was sitting. 

“That, my darling sister, is love. He just can’t help himself.”  

The smug smile was immediately wiped off Arya’s face when Sansa, raising one eyebrow and casting a sideways glance at Gendry, retorted: “Oh, do tell me more. Care to share some personal insights into the mysteries of love? You seem rather sympathetic to him.” 

Just as Jon opened his mouth to inquire what Sansa was talking about, he heard it. A deafening screech from outside echoed through the hall and made him jump to his feet, knocking over the chair he had been sitting on. Everyone had fallen silent. But he took no notice of that. He was already out the door and halfway across the courtyard. 

_Daenerys_. 

 

* * *

 

He saw the dragons as he was running towards the gates. They had landed right outside the castle walls. Snow was falling again, blurring his vision, but he was able to make out the silhouette of a small person atop the larger dragon as soon as he had passed through the castle's outer entrance. The sight only provided a momentary respite however, as Jon quickly noticed Drogon and Rhaegal’s wounded state. 

Both dragons seemed unsettled, moving around restlessly and giving agitated shrieks. 

“Daenerys!”  

The small figure on Drogon’s back did not move. Something was wrong. He had noticed a growing number of people from inside the castle had arrived and gathered behind him. When he took the first few steps towards the dragons, there was audible protest from the crowd, but he ignored it. Drogon saw him approach and snarled at him. Jon did not retreat. He could not. He had to get to her. He slowly moved closer, and to his great relief the dragon calmed a little.

“Hey pal.” He tried to keep his voice as firm and steady as possible. Daenerys never used the common tongue when she spoke to them - often times she did not even use words at all - but it was all he had. “I know you’re upset. I would be, too. That tear in your wing must hurt like hell. But I need you to let me get to your mother. I need to make sure she’s alright. Can you do that? Can you let me get her?” 

Next to them, Rhaegal had visibly calmed as well. Whether they understood him or not, Jon was fairly sure they were at least not about eat him. When Drogon lowered his body to the ground and stretched out his uninjured wing toward him in the same manner he always did to help Daenerys climb on and off, he did not hesitate. The scaled skin was more slippery than he had expected, but he somehow managed to pull himself up on the dragon’s back.  

Daenerys sat crouched over, one arm tightly wrapped around her middle and holding onto one of Drogon’s spikes with the other hand. Her eyes were closed, but Jon could see her uneven breath steaming in the cold air. As soon as he could reach her he pulled her into his arms, her head coming to rest against his chest. Snow flakes had caught in her silver hair, the faint moon light making them sparkle there like tiny crystals.  

“Daenerys? Can you hear me?”  

She did not answer. 

“Dany? Open your eyes, Love. Please … “

And then he saw the blood. Her entire left leg was soaked with it. He moved her cloak that was covering the upper half of her leg and gasped at the sight of the open flesh wound above her knee. As he gently lifted her off the dragon’s back and carefully began his descend, he felt her shift against his shoulder.  

“I love you, too.” 

It was a barely audible whisper. He caught her open eyes for a second before they closed again and she went limp in his arms. When he yelled at the people waiting in front of him to get help, his voice was thick with panic. 

“Get the maester! Now! She needs a maester!” 

 

* * *

 

 

“On the left side of the bed would be best, so I can attend to the wound.” 

Jon followed Maester Wolkan's orders, moving around the big four-poster and gently placing Daenerys on the soft mattress. She looked strangely peaceful, her face almost serene. But there was no time to marvel at her now. She had lost so much blood already. He knelt down by the head of the bed, holding her hand in one of his, the other caressing her forehead softly.  

“Somebody get the Tarly boy. I will require some help.” 

At Wolkan’s words, a maid quickly left the room. Jon’s eyes remained fixed on Daenerys. She had come back. She had made it back to him. He wanted to be grateful for that. But his fear would not let him. And there was anger as well. He had allowed _this_. She had been hurt, again, and even though he had not been the one who had struck her with the knife - or whatever else had inflicted that wound - he had not been there to prevent it either. This was war, he knew that. And with war came death. Growing up as son of the Warden of the North - illegitimate but nonetheless his son - he had had to learn that fairly early on, too early really. War was gruesome and deadly. But when it came to Daenerys, he just could not accept that. 

Missandei had come to kneel down next to him, carefully cutting through the fabric of the breeches Daenerys was wearing with a pair of steel scissors to expose the gash in her leg. Surprisingly, the young woman seemed to be the calmest in the room. She worked with steady hands, her eyes focused on the task in front of her. When she had removed the left leg of the garment she stood up to make room for the Maester and his instruments, but was promptly told otherwise by Wolkan himself.

“The cloak and dress as well, if I may ask. I will need to examine Her Grace for other injuries she might have sustained.” 

Missandei hesitated for a brief moment, but then sat down at the edge of the bed, bending over the Queen’s body and started to unbutton the thick fur coat she was wearing. Jon averted his eyes, suddenly feeling the urge to protect Daenerys’ modesty, even though it was only two servant girls in the room with them. He refocused his gaze on her face instead, and therefore failed to notice the small smile that flickered across Missandei’s face when she reached the buttons at Daenerys’ waist. She quickly covered the bit of stomach she had unwrapped with the furs again and rose to her feet, then walked over to the opposite side of the room where the Maester was preparing a tray with ointments and utensils for the procedure. Jon could hear them speak in hushed tones, his mind still too clouded with worry and fear to make anything of it at first. Then the door was opened and he saw the Maester ushering the two maids outside as Sam stepped into the room. 

“If I may be so bold to ask, my Lord, I would prefer if you left the room as well. I can assure you, Her Grace is in very capable hands between Lady Missandei, Lord Tarly and myself and—“  

“No!” Jon cut in before Wolkan could finish his sentence.  _No fucking way_! “Absolutely not. I’m not going anywhere until this wound is closed and the Queen is stable.” 

Anger boiling back up, Jon fixed the Maester in a stony stare. Missandei’s soft voice sounded distant through the thick fog of rage that had suddenly engulfed him. 

“Please, Your Grace. I understand that you fear for her. But I promise, it would be for the best if you gave the Maester and Lord Tarly the space they need to do their job. I will make sure you are informed as soon as they are finished.” 

He wanted to argue. But upon seeing the red patches of fresh blood staining the white bed sheets around Daenerys’ leg, he felt himself relent. 

“You can trust me, Your Grace. You know you can.”  

It was true. If there was one person he would trust with Daenerys’ life, it was her closest friend. He got up with a sigh, suppressing the urge to bend down and kiss Daenerys’ pale lips, and walked towards the door. When he turned around once more, he caught Missandei’s eyes. She gave him a reassuring nod and Jon closed the door behind him. 

 

* * *

 

 

Initially, he had been determined to stay as close as possible and wait in the front room of Daenerys’ chambers. Too tense and nervous to sit around, he had been pacing like a caged animal and soon changed his mind, desperate for some fresh air. Missandei had found him alone in the armory a while later. It had felt like ages since he had left an unconscious Daenerys in the care of the Maester and his helpers. At seeing the smile on Missandei’s face, Jon allowed himself to feel the relief of knowing Daenerys was finally safe, a feeling he had longed for ever since learning of her disappearance. 

“She’s still sleeping. But I thought you might still want to go to her. I’m sure she wants to see you when she wakes.”

Jon nodded, muttered a hoarse “Thank you” and hurriedly made his way towards the castle’s entrance. He saw Maester Wolkan coming towards him as he was sprinting down the corridor towards the Queen’s quarters.  He stopped, his need for reassurance regarding Daenerys’ health from the Maester himself momentarily surpassing his want to get to her. 

“My Lord. I’m pleased to say it all went well. Her Grace is resting now. I’m confident they will— … what I meant is … what I meant to say is that I’m very optimistic that the Queen will make a full recovery.”  

There was a slight blush creeping up the old man’s neck, but Jon only wondered about it for a moment. He still did not know Maester Wolkan very well. But at the end of the day, he, too, was just a man. Daenerys turned heads wherever she went, and apparently did so even on her sickbed.

_Good thing you’re mine, Daenerys Stormborn._

 

* * *

 

He had been sitting by her bedside for several hours when he heard a knock at the door. The sound, albeit gentle, made him start. It had only been her and him in the room since he had entered. She was lying on the same side of the bed where he had left her, but now under a pile of blankets and furs. Her clothes and the blood-stained sheets had been changed, leaving no trace of what had transpired there a short time before. She had not woken up yet, but her breathing was easy and regular. 

The door opened a few inches and revealed his youngest sister. She quietly closed the door behind her and took a few steps towards him. “How is she?”, Arya whispered, surprisingly well-mannered, and nodded towards Daenerys’ sleeping form on the bed. Jon shrugged. “Haven’t had the chance to ask her yet.” He returned Arya’s smile with one of his lopsided ones and rose from his chair, stretching his arms and neck. By his estimation it was probably already around midnight. He was tired. The exhaustion of the last weeks had settled deep in his bones. 

“For what it’s worth, I think you actually look worse than her right now.”  

He grimaced. “That’s not worth much.” When Arya did not reply he added: “I’m just dead-tired. And I know I’m going to pass out for an unforeseeable length of time as soon as I allow myself to lie down. So I don’t.” 

“Well, then I guess it’s a good thing I came with a task for you.” 

It was definitely not the answer he had expected. 

“What? … Why? Now?”

“So many questions.” Arya giggled and motioned towards the door. “Come on. Missandei will be here shortly and stay with Daenerys until you come back. There’s two fussy dragons outside that need some looking after and everyone’s convinced you’re the man for the job.” 

 

* * *

 

The second time Missandei came to fetch him that night was only an hour later. He had just successfully managed to apply an odd smelling yellow ointment to the wound on Rhaegal’s neck while distracting Drogon with pieces of dead deer when he heard her calling for him from the castle gates. 

“Your Grace! The Queen has woken up and is asking for you.” 

Arya, who had been watching him from the sidelines, tossing meaty treats for the dragons and the occasional mocking remark his way, waved at him and called: “Don’t forget to tell her about this, Dragon-Papa Jon. I have a feeling she might be interested to know you have talent in this area.” 

Jon gave a huff. “Careful, you little brat, or I might fatherly command them to have your skinny ass for dessert.” 

He heard her snorting laugh and chuckled, shaking his head as he turned towards Missandei who was standing next to the guards at the gates waiting for him. 

“I thought you said I was getting chubby!”

Jon kept walking. 

_She’s awake. She’s back. She will be okay._  

“Even better for them!”  

 

* * *

 

_That’s your baby in there, Jon Snow._

Was that really what she just said? He had probably misheard her. He was really _fucking_ tired. Her skin under his palm felt so wonderfully warm. So _Dany_. She was always warm. Even after riding the dragons through ice and snow and whatever had happened out there. His eyes wandered from where she was pressing his hand against her middle to her face. Her lips had curved into the most tender smile, her eyes misty. 

_Gods be good, I’m so in love with you I’m going stark raving mad._  

He turned his eyes back to their hands on her stomach. And _ye_ s, there was _something_ there. He lifted his other hand and gingerly placed it above his left one, his fingers fanning out over the gentle bulge of her belly. 

“You need to say that again.” 

Unable to swallow around the sudden lump in his throat, the words came out in a dry, rasping whisper. He felt her soft fingers on his cheek, her hand cupping the side of his face, gently turning it towards her, her eyes searching his.  

“That’s your baby in there.” A few stray tears slid down her cheeks but her smile did not falter. "We’re having a baby, Jon. You’re going to be a father.” 

He sucked in a ragged breath, his reeling mind slowly beginning to process what she was telling him. 

“Dany, are you serious?” 

He saw her nodding through the blur of his own tears, trying to blink them away but ultimately not caring if they fell.  

_A baby._

He kissed her then, deep and long and with all love he held for her. _Fo_ _r them_. She wrapped her arms around his neck tightly, pulling him towards her, pressing her lips to his, only letting go when they both needed air. He leaned his forehead against hers for a moment, eyes still closed, doing his best to savor this moment, the warm feeling of pure joy and blissful peace. 

_Hope._   

Daenerys was carrying their hope. And he could see it, touch it, the swell of her belly where their child was growing safe and warm, silently wished for, _longed for_ , and already so very loved. 

“How did we do that?” 

“Oh Jon,” she huffed out a laugh and wiped her wet cheeks with the back of her hand, “I think it’s pretty obvious _how_ …” 

At that, Jon gave an amused grunt and rose from his kneeling position on the floor to sit on the edge of the bed, then changed his mind, kicked off his boots and climbed over her, careful not to jostle her injured leg. He settled next to her on the mattress and slipped his arm under her shoulders, drawing her close. 

“This, Daenerys Stormborn, will go down in history as the one time I was right and you were wrong.” 

He turned his head, saw her puzzled look and grinned, his right hand returning to cradle her stomach.  

“Well, technically it was the witch who was wrong. Or she lied. In any case, you can make babies and I told you so.” 

He felt her nod against his chest.  

“It seems that way”, Dany sighed, a sudden heaviness in her voice. 

“No, Love. It _is_ that way. And I promise, I won’t let anything or anyone take this away from you.” After a brief pause he continued: “I’m sorry I wasn’t there. I should’ve been. I’m sorry you were alone with all of this. And I’m sorry I wasn’t there to protect you both today.”  

She craned her neck and placed a soft kiss to the side of his. 

“You’re here now. That’s what matters.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! xx


	13. Thirteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, THANK YOU for all your wonderful comments on Twelve! Both your feedback and (constructive) criticism mean a lot! 
> 
> Secondly, I'M SORRY for the wait. Life has been busy over here. Between my job (yep, the college years are over) and a brutal training schedule (well, technically those aren't really separate things ...) writing mainly happens at night and then sleep needs to happen as well. ;-) 
> 
> This one is mostly fluff, another attempt at mild smut and (of course) a hint of angst. Hope it's not too weird. But what can I say ... I'm not meisie. LOL (If you haven't yet, go read all of her fics. There is a reason why she has been named the Queen of Smut!) 
> 
> Alright then, I won't keep you any longer. Enjoy, my loves!

 

“Try again please. This one must still fit me. I just wore it the other day.”

Daenerys was standing in the middle of her bedchamber, trying to balance most of her weight on one leg, while Missandei was struggling with the buttons at the back of her dress. She closed her eyes and sucked in a deep breath, holding it until she saw spots behind her eyelids, then releasing it with a sigh. 

“I’m afraid this one won’t work.” Dany felt a twinge of irritation at the unmistakable amusement in Missandei’s voice.

_Gods, Daenerys, just pick a different one. Don’t be such a brat._

“I have altered a few of your other dresses, Daenerys. How about we try one of those? One with lacing instead of buttons preferably? That should be much more comfortable for both of you.” 

“But this _is_ a comfortable dress. It keeps me warm. And it's a good cut. I don’t everyone to see-” 

“See what?”

She turned around. Jon was standing in the open door that led into her front room, leaning against its wooden frame, his arms loosely crossed over his chest and a smirk plastered all over his face. 

“How long have you been standing there?”, she huffed, feeling another wave of annoyance sweep over her.  

Jon pushed himself off the door frame and took a few steps towards her. He was still grinning, but there was a softness in his charcoal eyes now that calmed her, even if only a bit. 

“The much more pressing question, my love, is how long _you_  have been standing there. You’re not supposed to be out of bed yet. You need more rest! The Maester said at least a week.” 

With another exasperated huff, Dany gathered up her still partially unbuttoned skirt and started to limp towards the large, wooden chest that held all her clothes. Jon’s arms were around her in an instant, holding her tightly against him. 

“I’m not having this! That wound needs time to heal, Daenerys! Back to bed.” 

She wanted to push him away. She wanted to stand up straight and walk out on them and their infuriatingly endless patience and knowing smiles. But the stinging pain coursing through her left leg seemed to intensify with every second and hanging onto Jon was all she could do not to let herself sink to the floor in the most ungracious way possible. 

“It’s been three days, Jon! I don’t have time to lounge around. You know that! Also, I absolutely hate that bed. It’s too plushy.”

_Oh gods, why on earth do you always smell so good ?_  

He was still holding her, and she felt him turn slightly to where Missandei was standing, unsure if she was still needed.

“Thank you Missandei, I got ...  _this_ for now.” One of his hands briefly left her back and she could only imagine the gesture he was making.  

_Teaming up on me now, you two. Wonderful_.   

“Very well, Your Grace.” She could hear Missandei’s voice quiver with suppressed laughter. 

A few seconds later the bedroom door was closed and she felt herself being lifted off the ground, scooped up into Jon’s arms and walked over to the four-poster bed.  

“Ouch!” 

“What’s wrong? I was careful, wasn’t I? I didn’t touch your leg!”

He gently placed her on the mattress and sat down next to her, his dark brows slightly furrowed but a smile still lingering around the corners of his mouth. 

“I know.” 

“Where does it hurt then?” 

“Nowhere. Everywhere? I don’t know! I just feel like whining and complaining” Until this very moment she had not realized how incredibly irritating the sound of her own voice could be. 

_Poor Jon. I’m truly going insane now._

“Ah, I see. “ He nodded meaningfully. 

“Oh, wipe that smirk off your face, you!” 

_You’re too handsome and I really want to be mad at you right now._  

“Can’t!” He was full-out laughing now. “You’re rather adorable right now.” 

“Adorable?” Now she was the one frowning, her voice raised in half-serious indignation. “Don’t you dare call me that again, Jon Snow. I’m not adorable. I’m—“

“Gorgeous.” 

“Fat!”

She could see he was seriously struggling to stifle a laugh. 

“You’re not _fat_ and you know that. You’re growing our baby in there and every inch that you’re growing means the baby is growing, too. And that’s exactly what we want.”

“For me to be huge and miserable and unable to move so you can keep me in this bed forever?” 

He chuckled. “In this awfully _plushy_ bed that you hate so much?” 

“Jon, I’m serious!”

“Aye, I know, I’m sorry.” He had finally managed to put on a straight face. “That won’t happen, I swear it. As much as I want to lock you up in a tower one Dragonstone and keep you away from … _everything_ , I know I can’t and I won’t. That wound will heal and once it has you will continue to lead us through this war. We need you, Dany. Those armies that we brought north? You're the one they follow. Not me. Not anyone else. _You_.” She felt herself soften under his gaze. _Oh gods, those eyes_. “We need you with us. And as much as I hate it, that baby will have to get used to some more dragonback riding.” 

She smiled feebly. “You know I love you, don’t you? Even when I’m being an annoying bitch?” 

“Is that a trick question?” He grinned. "I’m not agreeing to that, just to be on the safe side. But do feel welcome to take whatever moods might come to plague you out on me. I’d say that’s a fair deal given that I knocked you up and all.” 

_You have no idea what you’re signing up for. This will get worse before it’ll get better._

“Don’t say that! I’m going to scare you off before you know it. You’ll be running for the hills because sharing a bed with the Night King himself will seem more appealing.”

“Oh, _fuck_ no,” he laughed, “I’m very determined to keep you. Not sure if you know but you’re quite the catch, Daenerys Stormborn. In fact, you’re probably _the_ catch in all of Westeros.” He paused briefly, and when he continued, he sounded almost thoughtful. “You’re smart and strong and courageous, maddeningly stubborn ... but also almost always right.  _Gods_ , you’re beautiful beyond anyone’s imagination. Not that I care much of course.” His mischievous smile lit up every corner of his face. She felt a blush warm her cheeks and gave his arm a playful slap in return. He seized her hand and planted a soft kiss to her knuckles. 

“I mean it, Dany. I can only hope that our baby will be lucky enough to take after their Mama.” 

_I know you think you’re helping, Jon Snow. But you being all sweet and precious won’t make me any less weepy and crazy._

She swallowed and blinked away the looming tears. There had been more than enough in the past 48 hours. Her hand was still clasped in his and she tried to focus on that, on his grasp, solid and warm, like an anchor. 

"These clothes … ,” he tugged at the fabric of her skirt that was tightly stretched over the soft roundness of her belly, “that can’t be comfortable.” 

She did not answer right away. His eyes were locked with hers, the intensity of his gaze as usual leaving her limbs feel rather boneless and the rest of her in a state of rapidly building arousal. In that moment, it was a relief. At least _that_  part of her had not changed. Recently, it often felt like everything else had. And although she knew she could reasonably blame her moods on the little roommate she was currently accommodating, not feeling like herself at all during uncertain times like these was starting to weigh on her. 

_Only complete and utter fools have babies during wars._

“You know what would be much more comfortable?” 

Dany reached for his fingers that were still tangled in the thick material of her winter gown and gently, _teasingly_ , brushed her fingertips over the back of his hand. 

“I have a suspicion.” 

She took hold of his hand and slowly guided it up to the neckline of her dress.

“I think you’re right. This dress is constricting in more than one place,” she bit her bottom lip as suggestively as possible given her current state and continued: “… and I think it would be best if you get me out of it. And sooner rather than later if I may suggest.”  

His smile did not fade, but to her great satisfaction his eyes had turned a shade darker as his hand made contact with her breast. The groan that escaped him held frustration and desire in equal measure. Indeed, this was not the first time since she had arrived back at Winterfell that she was trying to coax him into abandoning his caution and let go of his fear of hurting her. Her body ached for him, she wanted to be taken and she wanted it now. Judging by the pleading expression on his face, it seemed he was about to run out of self control after all. 

“ _Gods_ , these are … .You’re seriously testing my willpower, you know,” he growled, his hand cupping her breast, gently squeezing now, the sensation only heightening her arousal despite verging on painful. 

"Then stop denying me. I need you. Or else I will have to take care of it myself. And the latter being a very frustrating undertaking as of late, I am not to be hold liable for anyth—“  

Her impending tirade was silenced by Jon’s lips on hers, somehow demanding and gentle, urgent and sweet all at once. She wrapped her arms around his neck reflexively, her fingers weaving into his hair, tugging it loose. He pulled at the front of her dress, ripping the buttons away and yanking the fabric aside, his hands finally touching the sensitive skin underneath. The whimper that escaped her sounded wholly undignified, and she could not have cared less. 

_Finally._

 She slid her hands under his tunic and let them roam in turn, peeling the shirt up and off his body as she went. When he pulled back she chased him instinctively, raising her head and upper body off the pillows before he, gently but firmly, guided her back down onto the bed. 

“Easy, Love,” he half warned, half teased, "We’re doing this my way or not at all."  

She scowled but instantly forgot to protest when he kicked off his boots and came to lie down next to her, hovering over her for a moment before bending down to kiss her again. 

_This_. She would never get tired of this. And gods be damned, the dead could wait. They had waited this long; they could wait a little while longer. 

Jon slipped a hand beneath her and quickly opened the remaining buttons at the back of her dress. _Much better_. She gave a content sigh when he finally pulled the heavy fabric down her body, his movements slow, almost tentative, painstakingly careful not to disturb her wound.  

She reached down to the laces of his breeches, untying them in one swift motion and delving a hand beneath his waistband to palm him. His sharp gasp was all the encouragement she needed as she began to stroke him, gently but insistently, her face mere inches from his, each of his labored breaths tickling her skin. His eyes were screwed shut and she could feel his whole body tensing, his grip on her uninjured thigh tightening as if to keep himself from falling.  

“Dany.” 

It was a another warning, the low growl in his voice sending a rush of heat through her body, the persistent throb between her legs building up to the point of distraction. 

“You were basically asking for it.” 

She was panting now, the feeling of her own arousal trickling down her thighs frustrating and exciting at the same time. He finally pulled her hand off him, clutching it firmly while seizing her other and easily pinning both over her head. She knew she had not yet broken his resolve entirely, but she could tell by the way he was kissing her now, deeper and more urgent, that she was getting closer. How much longer she would be able to bear it, however, was the more pressing question. Another blast of heat spiraled down to her belly, leaving her desperate for some relief. She lifted her good leg to hook over his, craving friction more than air to breathe, but froze as a burning pain shot through her left thigh. 

“Don’t do that!” 

He looked at her, his lust-glazed eyes suddenly wide in shock. 

“Then _you_ do something! Or I swear to all those stupid gods out there I will lose my mind!” 

A flicker of amusement crossed Jon's face, but fortunately he knew better than to laugh at her. “All right, all right,” he murmured and went to work, bending over her again to nip at the delicate skin of her throat while trailing a hand down the side of her body, brushing along her exposed breast and belly before finally, _finally_ , dipping into her smallclothes. When his fingers found the source of her distress, hot and wet and swollen, she cried out at the sweet relief and delicious torture of his gentle touch.  

“I see you weren’t exaggerating after all,” he whispered with a strained groan, his fingers moving in circles over her wetness, stroking her, unhurried bit insistent, as he gradually applied more pressure.  She arched her hips against his hand, her body surrendering to all that pent-up desire, writhing from the exertion and sensory overload. Jon shifted next to her, his lips latching on to the skin just above the curve of her breast, his hand between her thighs never abandoning its task while gripping her hip with the other, trying to hold her in place beneath him.  

"Seven hells, stop moving, woman! Your leg—” 

“Can’t!”  

She almost choked on the word. He had moved his mouth to her already sore nipple, licking and suckling it gently, the sensation so exquisite and painful it tore a sob from her throat. _Too much_. 

" _Oh gods_ , Jon! No … I mean … yes! _Please_! But … .” 

He understood, a satisfied grin crossing his face before he moved further down, planting a few kisses across her belly. Just as he was about to replace his hand on her with his mouth, she tugged at his shoulders, urging him upward again. 

“A bit indecisive today, aren’t we?” 

“I need you … I need you up here with me.”  

He chuckled and kissed her swollen lips, retaking his original position next to her and snaking an arm under her shoulders to cradle her against him. She immediately grabbed his free hand and moved it back to her still aching center. 

“I also really need you to finish this!”  

“Is that a queenly command?” 

Two strong fingers entered her without warning and she felt her eyes roll back in her head at the sudden onslaught of pleasure and slight discomfort. _No_ , it did not quite measure up to having _him_ inside her, but it would do for now. 

“It’s a decree,” she panted out and whimpered when he withdrew his fingers from her momentarily, then gave a sigh as they stretched her again, setting up a steady rhythm. She gripped his arm that was draped across her body, her fingernails digging into his biceps as she felt his muscles work with each thrust of his hand. His hot breath tingled her ear and his raspy whisper sent a shiver down her spine.

“Let me serve you then, Your Grace.” 

And _oh_ , he did. When she fell over the edge, the force of her climax shook her violently, her back bowing off the bed. It was blinding and so intense it was dumbing, the pain in her left leg nothing more than a faint twinge. The moment she could breath again she started sobbing. It felt utterly ridiculous and at the same time absolutely necessary. She was exhausted, sated for the first time in weeks and as safe as she possibly could be with his arms tucked around her, holding her close, the furs he had pulled over her pleasantly soft and warm against her bare skin. 

“Better?”, he asked after a while, kissing her temple and gently nuzzling her neck. She hummed against his naked chest, then shifted slightly to look at him and lifted a hand to the side of his face. 

“Thank you. I needed that.”

“Aye, I caught on to that.” 

He smiled down at her, tilting his head slightly to brush a soft kiss over her lips.  

“Glad you did. And I only had to yell at you twice.”

He snorted a laugh and shook his head in feigned offense, then reached a hand under the furs, lifting them up so he could peak beneath.  

“How’s the leg?” 

“Much better,” she lied, smirking, “repeat that whole procedure a few more times and it’ll be as good as new. “ 

“I’m sure that would be wholly counterproductive,” he replied, lowering his hand and pulling the sheets and furs back over her body.  

They lay in comfortable silence for a while before she asked: “Do you think he’s coming back to Winterfell?” She watched his brow furrow in confusion and, before he could utter the question, added: “Ghost, I mean. Do you think we'll see him again?”  

“Honestly, I don’t know. I hope he does though.” His fingers ghosted over her belly and she heard him swallow thickly. "He saved you both for me and I feel like I owe him a ‘thank you’ at least.” 

She had initially thought Jon would think her insane when she told him what had transpired during her escape from Karhold and who had come to save her. But to her surprise, he had not doubted her for a second, not even when she talked of how Ghost had seemed be able sense the presence of the baby within her. He had listened intently and not interrupted once, only nodded grimly at her unnerving account of what she had seen and only narrowly survived.  

His body had tensed at his last sentence, the memory of nearly losing her visibly troubling him. She turned her body towards him as far as possible and lifted her head off his chest and onto the pillow next to his. His eyes were fixed on her as she placed a kiss on his shoulder, her hand finding his underneath the sheets.  

_You worry too much, my love. It hurts you and I can’t bear it._  

“I think he’s on his way. I think he knows that you need him and he’s coming. I can feel it.” 

“You can _feel_ it?” 

 She could tell he was smirking without looking at him and gave his arm a half-hearted pinch, secretly glad that she had managed distract him and lighten his mood so easily.  

“ _Ouch!_ All right then! You can feel it. I’m not even disagreeing. It’d be good to have him around. To help me keep you safe. He’s proven to be quite good at that.”  

“This is your home, Jon. With or without a direwolf, I feel safe here.”

She knew that was not entirely true. But she also knew that despite the fact that her bedridden state had given them the much needed time to talk and begin to sort things out between them, there were still certain matters Jon was not completely open about. The topic of her protection and safety seemed to be a particularly touchy one. She had pressed him, argued and pleaded with him without any success thus far. 

_Together, remember?_

“Jon?”  

“Hmmm?”

He had lifted himself up into a sitting position, his back resting against the headboard of the bed. 

“What’s wrong? Talk to me? I know there is something you’re not telling me."  

Dany did her best to keep her voice soft and neutral. She could physically feel how he was once again withdrawing into himself and tried to ignore the panic that was beginning to constrict her chest as memories of those first two miserable weeks at Winterfell rushed over her like a tidal wave, powerful and terrifying, threatening to pull her under. 

“No, you’re right. I’m sorry.” He sounded off, detached somehow. “You’re safe, Love. I won’t let harm near you. Never. _Never again_. I swear it.”  

She twisted her head to look up at him and raised a hand to caress his bearded cheek, a reminder, an invitation. 

_Don’t shut me out. Please don’t. I’m here. Right here. I can help. I can take it. Whatever it is._  

“I don’t doubt that for a second. And I love you for it. For that and for so many other things, Jon. I love you and I trust you and I fear for you as much as you fear for me.” She moved her hand down to his chin, tilting it gently, encouraging him to look at her. “I need you to trust me, too. I’m relying on you all the time, on your strength and your honor and your wisdom. You’re kind Jon, and you’re just. I’m relying on you to be my equal, my ally, my partner in all of this and I want you - _I need you_ \- to do the same. Rely on me as well. Rely on me, depend on me, lean on me if you need to. I promise you we will be stronger for it." 

_Together, Jon. Remember?_

He released a heavy sigh and reached for her hand still cupping his face, turned it and placed a kiss to the center of her palm.  

“I know you’re strong, Dany. Much stronger than I am. I’m the weak one here. Gods, I’m so _fucking_ scared.” He shook his head. “I’ve never loved like this. It’s nerve-racking. Hells, it’s _fucking_ terrifying. You and the baby … you're everything. _Everything_ , Dany. I’m a selfish fool. But I can’t lose you. I can’t. I simply can’t.” 

The rawness of his confession was unexpected, so very unlike Jon. And how could she comfort him? What was she supposed to say, when she feared the same things? It was those same monsters that kept her up at night and haunted her nightmares. 

“You won’t,” she said quietly, barely above a whisper. “We will live, my love. We have to believe in that. Otherwise what are we even fighting for?” He met her gaze and held it, letting her see for herself, the truth, the infinite depth of what he was feeling and struggling to understand. “You won’t lose us,” she repeated, trying to convince him as much as herself. 

“I almost did. Twice already.”  

His voice was quiet now as well, his eyes downcast, staring at their intertwined fingers. She stayed silent, hoping he might finally explain but wanting him to come to such a decision on his own terms. Moments passed and she was already bracing herself for the disappointment at the short-lived taste of true sincerity between them when he finally spoke. 

“Someone tried to kill you in your sleep. The night after Bran told us about my parents. Your first night at Winterfell.”

The words were threaded with his pain and his fear and _yes_ , his rage above all. “He never got to you. I was there in time. But it was pure luck and it was close. Gods, so _damn_ close. Just a few seconds later … .” He exhaled sharply. “I don’t know … I don’t know what I would have done. I try to shut out these thoughts but then that’s usually all I can think about.”

It all made sense now. And at the same time, it was utter madness. 

_You bloody fool, you. You naive, ignorant, stubborn, absolutely wonderful fool._

“I’m so sorry, Dany. I should’ve—“  

“I know.” 

“You know what?” 

“I know about the Sellsword you sliced open right in front of my door.”

“What are you talking about?"

"Missandei told me the next day. Did you really think two dead guards would go unnoticed? Grey Worm knows his men, Jon. And people talk.” 

The death of the two Unsullied stationed in front of her chambers that night was not exactly a delightful subject matter, and yet she could not hold back the grin that spread across her face. 

“So that is what you thought you were hiding from me all this time?” 

The idea was ridiculous, but then again not at all. It was the kind of thing Jon would do. In a twisted way, the fact that he had compromised his own integrity - a sacred virtue to him - in his tireless effort to protect her, was one more testimony of his true devotion to her. By now she knew him well enough to see that. 

“You knew all this time?” 

He was dumbfounded, the disbelief plain on his face. Along with a great deal of relief. 

“I did. Of course I did. I am the Queen. Wouldn’t it be much more shocking if I hadn’t known?” 

She eyed him closely, the realization slowly seeming to sink in, while she worked to free his fingers from the grip of his own fists. 

“But why didn’t you mention it at all? And why are you so, so …. so _unconcerned_?” 

She could hardly blame him. Even though it certainly did not feel like it, they had really only met less than a year ago. And while she had told him about her life prior to arriving at Dragonstone, filling gaps and correcting untruths the stories that he had heard about her had left him with, he had not _been_ there. He could not have known.

“Because it was not the first time someone attempted to kill me. And I’m quite confident it won’t be the last.”   

“That’s not exactly a comforting thought.”  

She could hear the familiar growl in his voice again.

"This position comes with one or two risks, you know. It might really do you good to just accept that.” 

_Come on. Humor me, Jon Snow._

“Or maybe it’s not a very good position after all.” 

“Oh,” she laughed, “it’s a pretty good position if you want to change something in this world.” 

“Doesn’t help if you’re dead though.” 

She rolled her eyes at him in mock exasperation. They truly were in an impossible situation. Death and suffering seemed to loom behind every corner. Perhaps not taking everything so seriously all the time was how they would manage to cope. Tyrion had taught her the benefits of a healthy dose of self-irony. Jon would simply have to learn. 

“That is a dilemma indeed. What to do, _oh_  what to do?” 

Her tone was playful, and a hint teasing. She would not let him brood, not today. Time was too precious these days. She slid a hand under the furs and found the bare skin of his lower stomach, trailing her fingers further down until she reached the waistband of his breeches. Barely had she touch him when his hand seized her wrist. 

“You’re expecting to find answers down there?” 

“Distraction is more what I was thinking of.”

She gave him her sweetest smile and, feeling rather bold, promptly resumed her ministrations when she felt his grip on her hand loosen. 

“Dany!”, he groaned, “my self control is not endless and you will hate me if I wreck your stitches. Enough physical activity for one day.” 

"But I’m only returning the favor. What I'd truly hate is for you to feel neglected.” 

With every stroke of her hand she could feel him growing harder and his resolve dwindling. It was a strangely empowering feeling. She raised herself on one elbow and leaned over to plant an open-mouthed kiss to the side of his defined stomach. He gave a throaty moan and she could feel him sink deeper into the mattress. 

_There we go._  

“You’re not playing fair, Stormborn.” 

“Never said I would,” she said between kisses along his ribcage. 

They both froze at the sound of a knock echoing through the room. A few seconds later, Davos’ muffled voice was audible from behind the door, asking for permission to enter. 

“Seven hells! That man and his timing …!” 

“So much for your distraction.”

She could not help but laugh again at the pained expression on Jon’s face. 

“Now I need distraction from my distraction,” he muttered and grabbed his discarded tunic from the end of the bed, pulling it over his head and calling a hurried: “Give us a moment!”, towards the door. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! x 
> 
> P.S. To all you avid Tumblr users out there: I finally made an account (allegre17). I must admit it's all still a bit confusing (I think now I know how my grandma feels whenever she tries to text me on her new smartphone) but I'm slowly getting the hang of it. :-)


	14. Fourteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know .... this update is long overdue and I'm sorry! I really am. I don't have a whole lot of free time and lately what little bit I have has mostly been taken up by other things. To be completely honest though, I also really hated what I had written for this chapter, fussed over it for a while and then decided to stash it away and work on something different for a change. The one-shot for Jonerys Week took me almost 2 weeks to write ... and that accounts for about half the time I spent procrastinating on this one. 
> 
> Anyways, I'm rather relieved I finally get to post this today.  
> As always, I hope you enjoy and if so, please do let me know by leaving a comment! It takes just a moment but it means the world to me (and any writer on here, I promise). 
> 
> Have a wonderful day, wherever you are!  
> xoxo

“Read it again.” 

They had been waiting for news, not hopeful for anything positive. But whatever they had been expecting, this was definitely worse. 

Tyrion cleared his throat and unrolled the scroll he was holding once more.  

“We have reason to believe Karhold has fallen. The dead move west. No sighting of their King and his mount.”

Silence followed until Arya broke it. “How _detailed_. Almost as elaborate as Jon’s written correspondence.” 

Nobody laughed.

“It says everything we need to know,” Jon finally said, his voice laced with unease and his shoulders visibly tense. “We were too late.”

He glanced at Daenerys. She was sitting on one of the cushioned chairs her solar was furnished with, the long tresses of her silver hair falling loosely over her shoulders and back. When Tyrion had knocked, she had already been asleep, and was now only wearing a simple robe over he nightdress. Her face was pale, paler than usual and her forehead lined with worry and stress. The sight made Jon wince. Sleep was out of the question, at least for the remainder of the night, but he knew she needed it. 

“We still don’t exactly know what we’re up against, And we didn’t know how much time we’d—“

“No,” Jon said vehemently, shaking his head and effectively silencing Tyrion. "We _did_ know Karhold was a target. How else do you explain the barricade? We knew an attack was only a matter of time. This is on us. We were too slow."

“But the men we sent couldn’t have stopped an army of a hundred thousand wights anyway, Jon.” Sansa’s voice was calm, almost quiet, and Jon knew she was consciously trying to placate him. It usually worked quite well. Only today it did not.

“We need to ready the rest of our armies. And the castle needs to prepare for a possible siege. The message said the dead are moving west, which doesn’t _have_ to be Winterfell, but it most likely is.” He sighed and braced his hands on the back of an empty chair. “And I need to go out there again. I can’t let our men deal with this alone while I keep hiding in here.” 

He kept his eyes fixated on the dark wooden floor and readied himself for the tirade of objections that his announcement had inevitably prompted. 

His youngest sister spoke up first. “To do what?,” Arya asked, the mocking undertone in her voice doing very little to conceal her fear, “You’re just going to ride to Karhold again? That’s not exactly around the corner, Jon. Just in case you forgot … !” 

“And we already know Karhold is lost,” Davos joined in, “you going out there won’t undo anything.” 

Tyrion nodded. “I actually agree with that. Focus on the battles to come, Your Grace, not on the ones that have already been lost.” 

Jon took a deep breath, straightened his shoulders and raised his eyes. They met Dany’s and he realized she had yet to say a single word. The dread was plain on her face. And while he had also expected anger and irritation, he saw none of that. She was scared, but she also understood.

_I will do anything to keep you safe._

“We need to know what exactly happened at Karhold. How else do you suggest we prepare? Judging by the time that has passed since we sent a troop east, they most likely haven’t even reached Karhold yet. The scroll says that ’ _there’s reason to believe_ ’, not that they know for certain the castle has fallen.” He let his eyes wander from Davos to Tyrion. “I’m tired of this debate. We’ve been at this ever since we got here. This is not a war we I can sit out and let others win for us.”

The silence that followed felt heavy, unyielding. Despite the lack of further protest, Jon did not feel any sense of success. 

_What a wholly fucked up situation._  

Everyone turned to Arya then, the youngest Stark sister again the first daring to disrupt the silence. 

“I’m going with you.” 

Under less serious circumstances, he certainly would have laughed. Arya’s tenacity seemed to know no bounds. Though before he could say anything at all, Dany began to speak. 

“The fastest way to get to Karhold is on dragonback, I think we all agree on that. I’m not sure if I should feel insulted that no one has suggested this so far. I should go.” She turned to Jon. “We should go together.” 

Tyrion was expectedly quick to disagree. “No offense, Your Grace, but that is by far the worst idea I’ve heard tonight.”

There was an interesting exchange of half-hidden glances between the two Hands that Jon could not quite decipher. 

Davos gave a cough and muttered: “Well, I suppose it’s Her Grace's own responsibility to make such a decision and none of our business really… .” 

Jon frowned.  

“Are we seriously all going to keep pretending that none of us know?,” Tyrion asked, now sounding slightly irritated. 

“Know what?”, Sansa demanded just as realization dawned on Jon. 

“That Daenerys is pregnant with Jon’s baby.” 

It was his sister’s unshakable nonchalance rather than the fact that she had somehow found out about the pregnancy that  Jon found somewhat daunting. The situation was suddenly almost comical. He looked over at Daenerys and she met his gaze, apprehension creasing her forehead, but a hint of a smile on her lips. Her hands had come to rest protectively over her belly, the tie of her robe accentuating the slight roundness there. He returned her smile, as reassuringly as he could manage.  

_There’s really no denying it, Love._

It seemed out of all the people present, it was only Sansa who needed to process the news. 

“What?,” she questioned incredulously, her eyes darting between her two siblings and finally landing on Daenerys. “Is that … are you … ?”

Daenerys nodded slowly, her smile finally reaching her eyes. “I was hoping we could hide it for a bit longer,” she admitted, glancing down at her hands, “but it seems we weren't fooling anyone here.” 

Arya gave a snort of laughter: “Except for Sansa. Although to be fair, Jon only knows because he was told. Otherwise he’d still be clueless. He’s just as hopeless as my sister.” 

“Oh, _shut up_! You’re a nuisance, Arya Stark!,” Sansa shot back, a smile spreading across her face as she turned to her brother, “And you! How long have _you_ known? And not said a word!”  

Jon shrugged helplessly, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth as he watched his sister shake her head at him, one hand clamped over her mouth, her eyes now shining with tears. 

Sansa moved towards him then and he opened his arms and pulled her into a tight embrace. “Congratulations, Papa Jon,” she whispered into his ear before letting him go and turning to Daenerys. As the two women embraced, Jon  couldn’t help but give in to the warm feeling of cautious optimism spreading in his chest. Individually and together, they had defied the odds more times than he cared to count. His family deserved one more miracle. 

“I didn’t dare to hope that Winterfell would see the birth of another Stark. Or, well, part Stark,” Sansa said and gently placed a hand over Dany’s on her belly, “if this isn’t reason to hope, I don’t know what is!”  

The sound of shuffling feet and quiet coughing reminded Jon that there was still a number of other people present. 

“Everyone else knew?,” he asked, his gaze fixed on Davos and Tyrion, “How?” 

Tyrion scoffed. “First of all, I was on that boat as well. Cabin next to Her Grace’s. And lest we forget, tents are even less sound-proof than wooden walls. Second, I don’t believe in witches and curses. Never have.” He paused and grinned. “And ... your maester is also a bit of a blabbermouth.” 

“Oh, no he’s not!,” Sansa chided and shook her head indignantly when both Arya and Tyrion started laughing. “Well, he’s the only one we’ve got. So I’d say we better make do!” 

It had been a brief moment of respite. But the laughter died down and reality set back in. And it was still the same. _War and pain and fear and death_. Jon looked around the room, at the people gathered with him, most of them dressed in some sort of nightclothes, faces lined with worry and exhaustion, and he knew he could not be selfish. The last thing he wanted was for Daenerys to fly to Karhold, the idea of letting her and their unborn baby come near the danger that awaited them out there again made him sick to his stomach. But these were his people. A tiny fraction of all those lives that were depending on him. On Daenerys and him. Riding to Karhold was pointless, it would take weeks and that was time they did not have. 

Jon turned to her then, to Daenerys standing next to him, and reached for her hand, clasping it in his, gently but firmly. He kept his eyes on her when he spoke: “We’ll go together. On Drogon. You’re right, as much as I hate it, it’s the only way this makes sense.”  

 

* * *

 

He had to admit, it was an exhilarating feeling. He was definitely terrified, _yes_ , but the rush of adrenaline quickly subdued his fear. Everything down below seemed bizarrely insignificant all of a sudden. It was a relief. And he couldn’t shake the thought of wanting to keep going. It was his selfishness flaring up again, that nagging urge to keep those he held dear safe above everything and everyone else. He tightened his embrace around Daenerys who was sitting in front of him, as relaxed as if she was sitting in an armchair, and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. Jon knew, whatever the cost, he would make sure she would live. This war might kill him, in fact, it was fairly likely it would. He would never tell her, but as long as she survived, he was alright with that. He could feel where their baby was inside of her, his gloved hands cradling the little bump there, easily enough the most precious thing he had ever held in them.

_This winter will end. Spring will come and you will be here to see it. The snow will melt, the rivers will break, the trees will bud and flowers will bloom. And you will be watching from your Mama’s arms._  

“Is the King in the North afraid of heights?” 

She had turned her head and raised her voice so he could hear her over the wind. He was startled from his thoughts and before he could come up with a retort he felt her laughing, leaning her head back against his chest. 

“I mean, I know I said to hold on tight but—“ 

“I’m only making sure my Queen doesn’t fall off.” 

Dany gave a snort. “Ah, how very noble of you. I really have no idea how I managed to not fall off the other 298 times I’ve flown Drogon by myself.”

He chuckled into her hair. “I’ve been wondering the same thing. Pure luck, I suppose. 

Jon felt her nodding against his chest and could hear the smile in her voice when she said: “I have been pretty lucky lately. That much is true.” 

“Not as lucky as I have been,” he assured and paused for a moment, then half-teasingly, half-incredulously inquired: “298 times? _Really_?”   

“Oh, I don’t know,” she admitted with mock impatience, “I haven’t been keeping tally or anything.”  

“We could start a joint one today.”

She turned around in his arms to look at him. “You like it then?” 

Keeping his arms firmly fastened around Dany, Jon gazed at the landscape below. It was an endless white wasteland, stretching as far as he could see. The few scattered fir trees looked lonely against the otherwise unbroken vast colorless emptiness. It was truly a sight to behold.  

He then turned his attention to their mount. Even through the thick scales he could feel Drogon's powerful movements, massive muscles shifting beneath them, straining against gravity with astounding ease and grace. It was strangely empowering, invigorating, almost intoxicating feeling. Foreign yet somehow familiar. 

_Yes_. He liked it. He felt other things, too, but he decided this was not the moment for one of his clumsy attempts to put his feelings into words. 

“I do.” 

“Good,” she replied. It was enough for now. 

 

* * *

 

They spotted the dark mass of slowly moving bodies about a hundred miles west of Karhold. It was an eerie sight, the threat much less tangible from such a distance. Jon had experienced first-hand just how real it was, more than once. And yet, from this perspective, he almost felt like he was standing in front of the painted table at Dragonstone and all it would take was one sweep of his hand to wipe that horde of walking corpses from the face of the earth. Dany had tensed the moment the dead became visible from above. Jon did not know how and when, but their numbers seemed to have multiplied again. For the moment though, the dead on the ground were not his prime concern. Another airborne confrontation with Drogon’s undead brother was the much more imminent danger. He felt Dany lean forward slightly and noticed the beat of Drogon’s wings growing more rapidly. She was urging him to fly faster. 

_I’m with you, Love. Let’s get this over with._

When they passed over a thick, snow covered forest, Jon knew they were close. But then he caught sight of the clearing where the castle had once stood, and there was nothing. Only empty, white ground. From above, it looked as if Karhold had simply disappeared. Drogon flew a several loops until they were low enough to make out more than snow and trees. While the dragon hovered in the air, Jon inspected the ground beneath them. He could now see the outline of the castle, except there were no bricks or stones, not even rubble, merely piles of shattered ice and snow. 

“Do you think it’s safe to land? We should probably take a closer look … .” She had turned towards him, her eyes clouded with worry. He nodded. They had come all this way, taken the risk of getting attacked, it would be silly to leave now. 

“Stay close to me, alright?”, he instructed as he helped Dany climb down from Drogon’s half-outstretched wing. Her leg had healed well and she claimed there was no more discomfort. But Jon knew better, her poorly concealed flinching whenever she walked too fast or got up too quickly giving away what she was too proud and stubborn to admit. 

Instead of taking off as he usually did after having delivered Daenerys safely back to the ground, Drogon stayed put, his massive head turning from side to side almost nervously.   

“How is this even possible?” 

The brief silence was filled by the sound of ice shards crunching beneath the weight of their boots, an almost unnatural blue glow emanating from the piles all around them. 

Jon sighed and shook his head dejectedly. “There’s really only one way … .”

He looked up at her and saw her nod, her face a mask of grief and sorrow. 

_Viserion._  

Of course she knew. 

“Do you think it was painful?,” Daenerys whispered, the quiver in her voice audible nonetheless.  

_It’s not your fault, my Love_. 

“I think they were probably dead before they even knew what was happening.” 

That was one possibility. The somewhat comforting one.

“Or they’re _his_  now.” She swallowed thickly and Jon could no longer suppress the urge to reach for her, drawing her against him for just a brief moment. He could not let himself get too distracted. Not while they were on the ground, _here_ , completely vulnerable. 

“Or _that_ ,” he admitted, rubbing his hands up and down her back soothingly. “The latter seems more likely, but then again I’m not even sure what his motive for this kind of attack was. Why Karhold? Why not Winterfell, you know? It all seems so random, except I’m pretty sure it’s not.” 

Daenerys took a half-step away from him and caught his glance. 

“What do you know about Karhold?” 

Jon frowned. “What do you mean?” 

 

“I mean, what do you know about this castle?”, she repeated, gesturing at the icy remains around them. 

“Not too much, I suppose?,” he shrugged, “I know it was built by Karlon Stark several hundred years ago.”

“A Stark? As in Stark of Winterfell?,” Dany questioned pensively.

He nodded. “Aye, Stark of Winterfell. But what—“

He broke off when he realized Daenerys’ eyes had left his and were focusing on something behind his back. A cracking sound from the same direction made him spin around, unsheathing Longclaw with one hand and shoving Daenerys behind him with the other. 

“No, Jon! Wait!,” she tugged at his arm, “I don’t think … it’s not one of _them_ , I think.” 

Something had moved behind one of the larger piles of snow perhaps a hundred feet away from them.  

“Who’s there?,” he called, knowing that they had definitely been seen, at the very least because of the massive dragon sitting behind them, “show yourself!” 

Jon immediately lowered his sword when he saw a small boy emerging from where he had been hiding behind the ice. Dany gasped and moved to approach the child, but Jon held her back. 

“Let me go first,” he whispered, “I want to make sure it’s not … .” 

She looked at him and nodded, her eyes wide with incredulity and surprise. 

Jon began to move towards the boy who still stood unmoving, as if frozen to the ground, which admittedly was not altogether impossible this far up north. He stopped when he was close enough to see that the child was externally uninjured, his eyes fearful but normal in color, no trace of the supernatural blue. The little boy, Jon guessed his aged to be around six or seven, looked meager, but not fragile, dressed appropriately for the cold in furs and wool. After he had secured Longclaw at his hip again he continued his approach, both hands held up, indicating he meant no harm. 

“Don’t be scared,” he called out, “we’re not going to hurt you.”

The boy did not reply, but took a few steps back, away from Jon.  

_Good! Always be cautious. Don’t trust blindly._  

Jon stopped as well. “We’re from Winterfell,” he tried again, “We heard about the attack and—.” 

He heard the crunch of footsteps behind him and felt Dany’s hand on his arm a moment later, giving him a gentle squeeze before she let go and started walking towards the child, her stride steady but unhurried.  

Jon remained were he was, she had not told him but he knew it was what she wanted him to do. He watched her as she knelt down next to the boy and reached for his hands, the child willingly letting her take them in hers. He could hear her voice but was still too far away to understand the words. The boy nodded, then spoke himself. And when Daenerys let go of his hands and opened her arms for him, the boy moved towards her, letting her draw him against her chest. 

_You’re good at this. You’ll have to teach me._

She eventually rose and pointed at Jon, and then at something behind him.

Drogon.

He had forgotten about the dragon.

_Brave lad you are. I about shit myself the first time I saw this guy._  

Jon watched them as they walked towards him, Daenerys’ arm around the child’s shoulders. They boy seemed no longer terrified, but kept his eyes downcast when they stopped where Jon stood in the center of what he suspected had been the castle’s Great Hall.  

"This is Finn,” Daenerys said, “Karhold was his home.” 

  

* * *

 

It was pitch dark around them when Drogon touched down outside of Winterfell’s walls. Rhaegal’s screeched welcome had announced their arrival to the castle's inhabitants before they had even started descending. The gates opened as Jon slid down Drogon’s scaled side and onto his outstretched wing. He heard voices, people approaching from the castle and someone calling his name, which he noticed but ignored for the moment in order to help first Finn and then Daenerys climb down from the dragon’s back. 

He turned around and heard Daenerys cry out from behind him just as he saw it himself. 

“Ghost!”  

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> I promise to try and be quicker with the next update. GHOST IS BACK! Which means the motivation is definitely there (gosh, I love Ghost fluff!).


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